King's War

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Percy walked along the sidewalk closest to the traffic of Michigan Street, his protective nature wanting to stand between potential danger and Had. As much a herding instinct as Kay who trotted alongside them, working in tandem to keep Had on the sidewalk. With school out, the days were even less structured for Percy. He dropped his little brothers and sisters off at Big Momma's place. They'd be able to go to the park across from Breton Court, at School 109. There was a free lunch program there and they'd be able to play. On an overcast day like today, they probably wouldn't be able to break out the Slip 'n Slide and have a time. But they might. He pictured them in their little bathing suits, squealing with delight and shivering on Big Momma's porch when they ran into the shade. He missed being young.

Percy was seventeen.

A lifetime had passed during his high school years. But one more year and he'd be out. He never believed he would have made it, but between Wayne and Outreach Inc, and King, he could imagine himself graduating. He'd allowed himself the thoughts of going to college, Ivy Tech or some other trade school. He loved to cook. But these were dreams of tomorrow. As always, he had to make it through today first.

"I don't like storms," Percy said. Had turned to him as they walked, not breaking stride, but attentive. "See them clouds over there? Every time I see one, they get closer and closer, like they're chasing me."

Had ran his fingers into Kay's fur.

"It's okay though, cause they never catch me. They roll over me and make a lot of noise, but they never get me. I still don't like them, though."

They ambled along the street. Percy spent as much time on the west side as he did on the east these days, but the east side was still his comfort spot. He stayed at the Phoenix Apartments, but hung out all over. So when he thought of searching for the cup and Rhianna's ring, he immediately thought of the castle.

The castle was a house at Michigan Street and Dearborn Avenue. Word was that back in the day, it was originally built for the Grand Dragon of the Ku Klux Klan. Percy knew the neighborhood. A man pedaled down the street on a slightly rusted mountain bike. An olive-green knapsack slung across his back. Percy waved at him, receiving a head nod in return. The man sold bootleg DVDs in the neighborhood, his current stock including that week's film releases and a plethora of kung fu flicks. Wearing only a pair of tighty whiteys, an old white man rocked back and forth on a porch watching the traffic pass by, beer in one hand. Three days' worth of facial hair stubbled his face. Gray streaked his chest hair.

"Hey, Kool-Aid," the man shouted, a shot at Percy's red shirt stretched over his bulbous frame.

"Hey." It wasn't the first time he had heard the reference. It didn't bother him. Not really.

"Weather's gonna break soon."

"Sure hope so. It's hot. Heat does strange things to folks."

"Where you heading?"

"Off to a castle. Looking for a cup," Percy said in a matter-of-fact tone as if that perfectly explained everything.

"Oh yeah!" The man imitated the cry from the Kool-Aid commercial.

Had's face didn't register a flicker of emotion. Only a quizzical gaze as if not understanding any of it, then returning to their trek, moved by whatever unfelt wind filled his sails. If he had the words to describe his emotions or reason for accompanying Percy, they like most everything else went unvoiced. His small hands tugged at Percy's side then pointed to a boy on a cell phone.

"Why'd you have to tell her that?" A scrawny white kid in a wife-beater tank top shouted into a cell phone. Despite the heat, he wore over-sized blue jean shorts and a wool cap. Wisps of red hair sprouted along his jaw line and the sun deeply freckled his skin. The boy pled in a tone usually reserved for a girlfriend going emotional on a guy or a buddy about to bust his alibi. Then, in that way moods could swing without warning, the boy turned angry. He paced back and forth, a caged animal about to buck. "All right, motherfucker. I'm going to come over there and kick your ass."

The boy darted into his house and cut out the backdoor into an alley. Hopping the fence, he dashed through another yard in time to meet another white dude as he exited his house. Blackhaired, thin in the face, a toothpick to one side, his well-worn Reggie Miller jersey showed off his sleeve of tattoos down each arm. He spit out his toothpick. The two veritably snarled as they charged one another. The sleeve-tattooed boy ducked under the freckled kid's lunge, grabbed his legs, and took his feet out from under him in a backyard UFC move. Once the freckled kid hit the ground, the house whose yard he had cut through emptied, as did the house the sleeve tattooed boy came out of.

Chaos erupted all about Percy, Had, and Kay, who remained motionless, not drawing any attention to themselves. Kay bared his teeth and gums, barking rapidly then snatching at the air with his jaws. A feral glint in his eye warding off the encroaching madness.

"Come on, let's get you out of here before you get hurt." The voice came from behind them, but Kay knew him by smell and calmed as he neared. Lott had the sullen appearance of someone used to spending too much time alone.

"Lott. We're on a quest," Percy said, barely able to contain his excitement.

"Later, little brother. It's getting a little crazy out here."

A wood-chipper truck stopped in the middle of the street, held up by the melee. A mailman kicked his feet up in his truck, drinking a pop and watching the show. Someone shouted "they're coming to arrest your ass" as the police, an ambulance, and a fire truck pulled up.

Emotions over-crowded Lott's brain. Nostalgia. Guilt. Shame. Loss. Parts of him no longer wanted the obligations of friendship because it reminded him of old times, which was too much for him to handle. They knew who he was, what he was, and how he did things. They cheered him on as he rampaged through life. They exalted his exploits and not-so-secretly thrilled then encouraged him to greater heights of violence. Then they dropped him when he became inconvenient to them though called on him when they needed him. He wanted to bray about being used, perhaps muster up the energy to play the martyr, but he could only manage enough to feel sorry for himself.

Percy knew the neighborhood. Black folks, white folks, Hispanic folks — united by their ubiquitous poverty more than anything else — settling into isolated pockets within the community. Living mostly comfortably, sometimes not so, among each other. He also knew the houses on the block.

And he believed even houses became ghosts haunting neighborhoods.

Set away from the street and somewhat distanced from the surrounding houses, as if they shrank away from it preferring to crowd the rest of the block, the two-story house at Michigan Street and Dearborn Avenue loomed over the intersection. An old Tudor-styled home with a spire as a turret. Two stone, winged lions guarded its entrance. The entire property was fenced by razor wire, designed to echo the women's facility just west of it. That was how the house appeared to most, but when Percy walked by it, out the corner of his eye, or perhaps though a disturbance in his spirit, the house was greater. A many-roomed mansion, three stories. A red castle with flourishes of turrets. An egg-shaped keystone with a tower, the illumination of a winter's solstice within its sacred geometry.

"You sure this is the place?" Lott asked.

"Aren't you? You knew it, too."

A fact Lott couldn't argue. "We got to clear this fence. You up for it, Percy?"

"What about Kay?"

"Can't he wait here?"

"He needs to go with us."

"Okay." Lott eyed the dog, who lowered itself as if trying to shrink. "I'll carry Kay."

They scouted the perimeter of the house. The property took up much of the block with the alley behind it littered with rocks and overgrown shrubbery. A poplar tree grew barely within the property, thick, low-lying branches stretched over. Percy lifted Had up to the branch. Scrabbling up with a natural grace, the small boy scampered along the branch and landed in the yard before either Percy or Lott could tell him to wait. Percy grunted as he hefted his bulk up, heaving a massive leg over the branch, which bent in quiet submission to his mass. Taking advantage of the lowered branch, Lott scooped up Kay and began to slide onto the branch, as Percy slid along. The branch creaked and strained under the weight of all three. Not wanting to risk his friends, Percy tumbled awkwardly out of the tree, landing hard.

"You okay?" Lott tried to keep his voice down.

"I'm all right." Percy was slow to get up, and limped toward Had.

Crossing over the razor wire, Lott allowed Kay to leap down before dropping down behind him. The tree branches shadowed a stone at its base. Surrounded by strange symbols, the number 1362 carved into it. Percy traced them with his finger. They seemed important, but he didn't know how to interpret them. He wished King or Merle were here as they were so much smarter than him and always seemed to know what to do. He missed his friends. They all seemed so sad these days. Big Momma always gave him a hug when he was depressed like this. Lott looked like he needed a hug. So Percy wrapped his huge arms around him.

Lott instinctively flinched, unsure how to react, struggling against the embrace at first. Then, he relaxed, succumbing to the act of being loved.

"What was that for?" Lott asked.

"You looked like you needed it."

"Now?"

"Why not now?"

"I… thanks, Percy." Lott clapped him on the arm and gave it a squeeze. The darkness in him shifted a bit.

Lott turned toward the house. Had tugged at his pant leg, gesturing for him to bend over. When he leaned down, Had wiped a tear from his face he didn't realize was there, then threw his slight arms around him, too. He didn't understand everything that was going on. But he knew when people were hurting and wanted to take away their pain.

"Okay, li'l man. I get it. Thanks." Lott was a strong man. Not one prone to admitting when something inside him broke, like an ice sheath cracking. "Come on."

They moved in silence, though Percy strained to keep his lumbering gait quiet. Had's lightness made him mobile. Filled with the swell of mission and purpose, Lott took point. The rear patio doors were unlocked. Percy had the sensation of the house being larger on the inside than on the outside. They skulked along a thin hallway, Percy edging slowly at an angle to allow him to pass through. The servants' hallway opened into a linen room. Empty cupboards, cabinet doors removed from their hinges, covered in cobwebs against the creeping black of mold as the original wallpaper was exposed in patches, where not shorn from the wall.

They entered the dining room from the pantry. A boarded-up side door led out to a porch. One of the occupants had attempted at some point to lay down a stretch of carpet. Old glue streaked the wood floor along with blobs of paint, matted by half-rotted pieces of carpet in places.

Having squatted in his share of homes, Percy recognized one when he entered it. However, with this much room — larger inside than it should be, as if they'd entered a new space entirely — there should be many folks staying there. In some of his spots, if it was a good place, he couldn't stop others from coming in and claiming a room.

Kay growled. Had patted his side to reassure him.

Strange illumination filled the house as if emanating from the walls themselves. They approached the living room, with its curving wall, when the stench first hit them. Rotted meat mixed with the pungent smell of thick ammonia. And piles of shit. A cloying animal musk coated their tongues. The living room opened into a large foyer with a domed ceiling.

The creature parading about in it stopped them in their tracks.

A strange amalgamation of animals. White downy chest, with brown wings tucked in over its body, the feathers swept up its front to the face of a falcon. It had the forelegs of a large bird yet the hind legs of a lion producing its awkward gait. The rear half of the creature's long and sleek body, starting behind its elegant shoulders, was that of a jungle cat. Thick plates of muscles, mostly hidden by the draping wings, eventuating in a tail which was the body of a huge python, swishing about with an unsettling slither.

Lott pushed the boys back around the corner. When he peered around again, the beast's falcon head turned his direction, its eyes focused with the pupil dilation of spotting prey. But it remained frozen as if daring him to come out. It guarded a double staircase, steeped in shadows. Had snuggled into Kay, not so much scared as much as reassuring the dog that he was okay. Kay licked his cheek.

"Ever see anything like that?" Percy asked.

"I saw a heron once. It looked lost, like it meant to land somewhere else. But it walked around like it owned the place before it took off again," Lott said.

"I seen hawks and falcons fly downtown and nest in buildings. A snake once. I don't like snakes. Nothing like that."

"You all get out of here. I can't let you go on."

"What about the cup? What about King?" Percy asked.

"I'll get it. I owe King that much. But it's too dangerous for-"

"Kids?" Percy fixed his heavy-lidded eyes on Lott, filled with determination, pride, and a distinct lack of fear.

"All right, but you stay behind me. Looks like its only interested in guarding the stairs. So whatever we want has got to be up there."

"You going to fight it?"

Lott studied the sheen of muscles rippling along the creature's flank, the sharpness of the claws, and the sharp downward arc of its huge beak — itself larger than his head. "Um, no."

He scanned the room quickly for a weapon. It had been stripped of everything of value. Not even a door remained. Nor any grates for any of the vents. He pulled at the trim at the doorway until a section gave way. Filled with a stiffness, Lott's muscles still ached from his recent attacks. He hefted it, getting a feel for its weight. Holding it out like a lance, he checked around the corner. The creature had ceased its pacing, waiting in a half-crouch like cats were wont to do, waiting for them to make a move. Impenetrable patience in its eyes.

"New plan," Lott said. "I'll distract it while you all run up the stairs. It's so large, it can't follow us up."

Lott charged the mosaic beast, jousting with the stretch of door trim. Percy took Had by the hand and immediately pressed against the wall to follow its perimeter toward the stairwell. The creature sprang toward them, drawn by their movement, but Lott crashed into its side at full speed. The feathers around its head raised in shock and fury as it turned to him. He backed away from where the boys crept around. It snapped at him, its huge beak opening to reveal a dark pink maw. Fluttering in an unfelt breeze, its wings spread in a flare as the boys scampered behind it. It pounced at Lott, propelled by its powerful rear cat legs, its clawed talons skittering with a thunderous clickclick-click against the hardwood floors.

Lott lunged out of its way, barely avoiding a swipe which would have sent his entrails spilling out against the wall like a dashed pumpkin. Scrabbling against a litter of bones, he slipped on the thick paste that might have been its urine. The boys disappeared into the darkness of the stairwell. Lott dashed to the left then to the right, seeking to juke his way past it, but each move was met with the creature cutting off any path toward the stairs. It toyed with him now, its head cocked at a curious angle as if deciding whether to plunge its beak into his eye sockets or reduce him to a crimson smear with its claws.

Claws raked across his shoulders, producing scarlet stripes. Thrown off balance, he stumbled about and whirled at the sound of a terrible screech. It hurtled through the air. Lott pivoted away from the lethal talons, barely avoiding the scrape of chitin against the wood floor. Lott shouted, hoping to startle it, threw the piece of wood at it, then broke to his right in a full-out dash toward the stairwell. Hit in the face, the creature flapped its wings again, the powerful breeze knocking Lott off balance as it hooked its claws onto his face. It lifted him into the air, the susurrus of his screams seeming to please it. Opting not to crush his skull on the spot, it flung him across the room. Lott slammed against it, falling to the ground like limp meat, his fall broken only by landing in a pile of its excrement. Its horrible tail wrapped around his leg, drawing him toward it, squeezing him to the point where he could no longer feel. The rest of the creature's body turned to inspect him. It reared back, preparing to dive its beak directly into his chest.

With a snarl, Kay leapt from the shadows, landing on the creature's back. He tore into the scruff of the beast's neck, his jaws clamping down on its thick cords of muscle. The creature let loose a screech. Lott grabbed the nail-studded piece of wood and swung it into the side of the beast's head. The head jerked and it toppled though it raked a claw through the air, catching Kay in his side. He winced, his flesh opened in red gashes. Fearing the creature might renew its assault, Lott sprang between it and Kay, poised to club it again, but the creature didn't stir. Its chest rose and fell. Lott glanced at Kay then, filled with rage, turned back to the creature to smash its skull in. He stood there, rooted to the spot, its still form beneath him. Releasing the spear of wood, he scooped up Kay and climbed up into the waiting darkness of the stairs.

The shadows steepened with every step, closing in on him with a pressing closeness. It seemed to swirl and congeal, eddies of darkness, shadows within shadows.

"Percy?" Lott cried out. The darkness swallowed his words. "Had?"

Kay, bundled in his arms, lightened. Immaterial, as if dissolving in the umbra fog. Lott's heart quickened. Every muscle in his arms and legs throbbed with ache. He mentally traced each gash as each wound throbbed. The quiet times only made him reflect on his pain.

The dark grew deeper still. Lott inched along the stairwell. Traumatized and numb. Disembodied, he was a lost soul cast adrift in an obsidian sea. Bruises of metal and insulation underneath electrical boxes and tentacles of wires tripped him as he skulked. His hand pressed against the wall, like a blind man in a labyrinth, searching for anything which allowed him to believe he was still real. Paint flaked from the walls beneath his touch. The distinct smell of cat piss filled his nostrils. Somewhere in the distance, he swore he heard someone humming "Jesus Loves the Little Children".

"Percy?"

"Good-working, conscientious thieves." With the strange acoustics of the stairwell, the voice boomed from everywhere at once. "Young and inexperienced. Wandering an unknown land, ravaged by war."

"I don't understand."

"You only pass if you speak true. You have three chances. Who are you?"

"Lott."

"Liar. You have never been the man you believed yourself to be."

"But I…" Lott began.

"What do you seek?"

"I seek the grail."

"Liar. You seek what we all seek. Forgiveness. Redemption."

"I…"

"Where were you when she needed you? When she needed you to be the man you claimed you were. Hoped you were. Where were you?"

"I don't know. I was lost."

"Ask the question," the voice commanded.

"What question?" Lott asked.

"Ask the question. The one you truly want to know the answer to."

"Where is the grail?"

"Liar. Will you ever be forgiven? By God. By your friends. By yourself. For you… darkness."

The night swallowed Lott.

Percy emerged onto the second floor. He leaned against the wall next to the stairwell, then slid down it until his butt hit the floor and he slumped against his knees. The darkness frightened him, the voice moreso. It troubled him, in a too-knowing sort of way, so he pushed the entire encounter out of his mind. Two bedrooms faced the front of the property and two bedrooms faced the rear, the large master suite before him. A barrel-vaulted ceiling towered above him. Had trundled out of the darkness of the stairwell, innocent eyes nonplussed, and squatted down beside Percy.

"You hear the voice?"

Had nodded.

"It scare you?"

Had shook his head.

"Really? It scared me. A little. Kind of like a storm."

Had cocked his head as if admiring or studying the movement of Percy's mouth.

"It asked me secret things."

Had stared at him with no recognition in his eyes.

"Think we should wait for Kay? Or Lott."

Had peered into the darkness, then shook his head no, as if he, too, knew secret things.

"Okay." Percy scrambled to his feet and took Had by the hand. He checked each of the two rooms overlooking the backyard. Each room was empty. He walked past the door to the master suite to the other rooms. The two facing the front were identical. Both had huge walk-in closets and bathrooms with broken toilets. Both had a bedroll in the corner. And both had clear views of the winged lion statues.

"Edward and Hugh," Percy said. "They look like an Edward and Hugh."

Had smiled at him.

Percy led them back to the master suite and turned the doorknob. Across the room was another door. Between them and that door was a man seated in a wicker chair. With a thin but muscular build, his jersey showed off the measure of his tattoos. Half of his body, like a living X-ray detailing his skeleton. Though his face was too thin, his eyes, hazel and glassy, were determined. He exuded power and fierceness. The man wasn't one to cross.

"You a long way from home, hese." Black made no effort to move, just stood there as if entranced. His eyes fixed on the large boy, perhaps assessing him, perhaps dismissing him, perhaps not really seeing him.

"Not really. I live just up the street," Percy said. Still holding his hand, Had slipped behind him.

"You lost?" Black took their measure in a glance. If he perceived a threat, he didn't let on.

"No. Just looking for something."

"You 'just looking for something' in my house?" Black said. "You like Christopher Columbus and shit. 'Discovering' a land already occupied by people."

"This is your house?" Percy gaped about in awe. "It's nice."

"I stay here. You got to have a place to lay your head. No one knows that really. Only the people I trust most."

"I don't know you."

"I know. So when you say you up in my house 'just looking for something', guess that makes you a thief. We know how to handle thieves around here."

"I'm no thief."

"What are you looking for?"

"A cup. It used to belong to a friend of mine. It had a… ring inside."

"So now you calling me a thief?"

"No," Percy said unblinking and unafraid. "I thought… I was told it might be here."

"Who told you that?"

"Another friend."

"Your friend tells stories," Black said.

"Yeah. He does that sometimes."

"Why you want it back so bad? It valuable?"

"I don't know. I was told it could help a friend. He's sick."

"What's the matter with him?"

"He was shot and now won't wake up."

Calculations filled Black's eyes and he tugged at his glove. "You a friend of King's?"

"Yeah."

"That motherfucker needs to burn. Along with any motherfucker that stands with him." Black removed his glove and held it in front of his face, both admiring and loathing it. He glared at Percy, his anger prematurely exposed. Not solely anger, but despair. A huge void, the sheer immensity of the pain and loss, threatened to devour him where he stood if he didn't constantly tend to it. Which also fueled his anger.

"Why?" Percy didn't move. The way the man held his hand out, he was afraid threat underscored the gesture.

"Because of what happened to my sister."

"Lyonessa."

"Yeah. Someone's got to pay." Black reached out to him.

"She was pretty." The tiny voice stopped them in their tracks.

Percy turned. Had stepped out from behind him and met Black's gaze.

"She was pretty." Had stared straight ahead, not really focused on Black. His shoulders stiff, as if warding back a shiver. "And nice. She played with me."

Black peered down at the round-faced boy, oddly captivated by his sweet face. There was an innocence, a purity, about him which reminded him of his sister. He lowered his arm. Had approached him. Then, before Black could react, Had took his hand.

Black cried out, his voice choked and grievous, more in fear for the boy than any pain himself. But he stared at him. No burning. No raised flesh.

"I don't understand." Black tried backing away from Had, but the boy kept pace with him, not releasing his hand. Black fell back into his seat. Had stood next to him, still holding his hand. A tear trailed down his face.

"She was pretty," he said as if letting the memory of her wash over him. Not just the memory of her, but the pain of her absence, the tragedy of her death. The guilt of Black's life. All of it, the pain and hurt of Black. All of it.

Had nodded at Percy as if shooing him along. Percy backed away from them, again with the overwhelming sensation that he was intruding on something personal. Something sacred. He fumbled for the knob of the other door, which gave way without complaint in his grasp.

Another set of stairs greeted him. A tight spiral of steps which seemed to go up quite a ways. Percy almost got dizzy simply from the view up. He took the first one, testing it to see if it or the delicate frame could take his weight. Then the next. The structure didn't buckle or sway. Rather than risk vertigo staring to see how far he had left or down to check how far he'd gone, Percy kept his eye simply on the next step.

Time became meaningless to him. He knew he ascended a tower. He kept climbing, pausing every so often to rest. Sweat soaked through his red shirt, giving it the appearance of a blood-drenched rag. Finally he came to a landing and collapsed in a heap.

"It's such a waste," a clown said. Her face, white with paint grease, had a scar dividing the side of her face. When she closed her eyes, her lids completed the image of a cross over each eye. When she moved, she glided about the floor with the swivel-hipped body language of a dancer.

"It's all such a waste."

Percy scrambled to his feet, steadying himself on the banister. The room had a sacredness to it. A quiet retreat hidden from the rest of the world. And she was beautiful. A princess.

"What is?" Percy asked.

"The fighting. The killing."

"It makes me sad, too."

"You've come for the cup," La Payasa said.

"Yeah."

"Is it yours?"

"No."

"Then why should I give it to you?"

"It's important," Percy said.

"Why?"

"It can help my friend."

"King." Her eyes fixed on him as if gazing into the innermost parts of his soul. "Is that the only reason?"

"Yeah." Percy ran out of words. He didn't know what else to say, how else to plead his case. Words tumbled out of his mouth. "The cup had a ring in it…"

"Go on."

"A long time ago, my mom…" Percy hesitated. The memory and words came hard to Percy. But he spoke of his mother and her long losing battle with drugs. How she tried to be a mother in her own way. And he tried to be an obedient son, despite her trying to school him in things he knew were wrong. Which was how he ended up breaking into Rhianna's room one night and almost stealing that ring. Instead, moved by how pretty she was, he put the ring back. But it always hurt his heart how close he came to betraying her. Which was why he believed he owed it to her to find the ring.

"You are a great fool," La Payasa said in a soft, soothing voice. She pulled a ring from her left hand and placed it in his palm. Then curled his fingers around it. "I don't know if any of the people around you deserve you."

"Why are you here?" Percy asked.

"In this house?"

"With him."

"Oh, Black. Growing up. The police raided our house three, four times a year. They'd gather the children in a room, all of us terrified, not knowing what was going on. The police were supposed to be our friend. We were supposed to trust them. They were supposed to protect us. They were supposed to lock up bad people. Yet here they were, herding us about like cattle, all of them glaring down their noses at us, with that expression on their faces like we shouldn't be there. They reduced the house to a mess. I never learned to trust them. Handcuffing all of the adults, lining them up on the curb like they were on sale. And most times, the police would leave with nothing. Sometimes they'd take my father in, but he'd be back within a few hours. It was like some game he and the police played. With us caught up in it. Me? I hated the invasion. I hated the police. And I hated my father."

"I never knew my father. Met him once, I think."

"Mine never protected me. I never had my own bed. Always a bunch of us crammed into a room. Into a bed. Me and my cousins. We slept on opposite ends of the same bed. His crusty feet jammed into my face."

Percy smiled. It reminded him of home with his brothers and sisters. But the smile faded with the pursed lips of La Payasa and the sadness they held back.

"Every night for a year, he touched me," she said. "Touched me in private places."

Percy reflected on uncomfortable moments with his mother.

"There was never any…"

Percy shifted noisily.

"Only touching."

"So that's why you're here?" Percy asked, still confused.

"It takes a certain kind of self-loathing to be here. Maybe you know what it's like. You feel isolated. Apart. Trapped. The whole experience made me feel so different. As if everyone could see my shame. So I never wanted to feel weak or alone again."

"Black protects you."

"I love the nation." La Payasa hand-stacked the letters of her clique. "They my family. They took me in and taught me that they had a code. The leaders chosen had to be strong. Mentally, physically, and emotionally."

"They made you strong." Percy struggled to follow, but thought he understood.

"I held their guns and drugs from the beginning. I could use my looks to lead fools into an ambush. Women ain't trusted to go with men on hits. With me, I can go solo. No one challenges my word."

"So you ain't scared anymore."

"You… understand."

"It's like me with King. I'm not afraid. I want to live… like he does."

"I'm tired. You always got someone who wants to test you. And that gets old real quick." She wanted out of her life. She loved the power and the community her life afforded. And the respect. But her loyalty to her gang was also her biggest obstacle. Besides enlightened self-interest, she could give up the folks she didn't like, who were rivals in their way, or frankly, she didn't give a fuck about. But treason was the worst sin, punishable by death. A subtle shift of light in her eyes, the flicker of resignation. She took the lid of a can and began to scrape off her tattoo.

"Stop! You're gonna hurt yourself!" Percy yelled.

"The life, it don't give you time to think back on what you've seen or done. You live in the right now with the goal to survive to tomorrow." Rivulets of blood filegreed her shoulder. "I won't give the cup to you. I will put it in the hands of its true keeper. And maybe talk to this King of yours."

"What about…?"

"Come on, your friends are waiting on you."

Big Momma swept her porch. A little four-by-eight concrete slab set before her door and the adjoining condos door. Her hair done up in pink rollers, gray strands mixed with black in a gray jogging suit knowing full well she barely jogged to the refrigerator door. However, she hated house dresses, believing they were for old ladies ready for nursing homes. And she was neither. Two green plastic lawn chairs leaned against the brick artifice of her condo. A plastic bench upturned into the bushes while she swept. She arranged the furniture back to her porch, scooting the bench out into the lawn for a better view. From her porch, she could spy the entirety of her court, a cul-de-sac of condominiums forming the letter U facing Breton Drive. On the other side of the street was Jonathan Jennings PS 109 elementary school. The park next to the school was in her full view, the vista cut off by the row of bushes that grew along the creek that separated the school and Breton Court from the rest of the neighborhood. The comings and goings of Breton Court happened under her watchful eye. She knew who lived where, who belonged in the area, and who didn't. she watched over it. Protected it.

A dog barked then skittered around the corner of the bridge that crossed the creek and limped directly for her. It favored one side, had some wounds which had been tended to but were still sore. Lott, Had, and Percy trailed behind it, none of them moving quickly, especially Lott. Trouble followed that boy and he was all too happy to find his way into it. A girl, a pretty little thing, followed a few steps behind them. They all stopped at Big Momma's stoop.

"Big Momma," Percy said. "La Payasa."

"This belongs to you." La Payasa handed her a chalice. Unadorned and simple.

"It does?"

"It always has."

"Why me?"

"Because you're magic," Lott said. "It's what you do. You see us, who we really are, the way nobody else does. That's your magic."

"If you're not ready to be helped, you won't get better," Big Momma said.

Everyone wanted a happy ending to their story. To believe that no matter how far gone they are, their story wasn't over and there was still time to write a new story. "I think we have a stop to make."

Night shrouded a fog-filled world. King marched about a few tentative steps at a time. Uncertain. Almost lost. A hand reached out to grab him before he stumbled again. His brown leather jacket remained opened enough to reveal the gold chain along his black turtleneck. His brown eyes brimmed with compassion. Side burns, thick but tight, framed his wistful smile. He could almost see his reflection in his polished knobs. Yet King couldn't quite focus on him, as if he wasn't entirely there.

"Dad." King knew though he hadn't seen his father since he was two and had no real memory of him. But he looked exactly as he had in the pictures his mom kept.

"Yeah," Luther said. "Look at you. All grown up. You've become quite a man."

"I don't understand. You're dead."

"Yeah."

"But you're here."

"And you're lost."

"I'm always here. I came to you. A father loves his children."

King shifted in discomfort, a closeness to a father he didn't understand. There were times when it was easier to believe the seemingly irrational. King wasn't sure about a lot of things.

"You're confused. You have a lot of questions and soon we will have all of eternity for me to answer them. For now, take in my healing waters. What's broken can be made whole. What's dirty can become clean. Drink deep and know that you are loved. You are quite special to me. For who you are. You don't have to do anything to prove yourself to me. Just be the man I intended you to be. As for me, I'm already pleased with you, just as you are."

With that, King awoke.