The Apostles (10 page)

The night was warm, with a soft breeze. He reached for his leather peacoat in the closet, but decided against wearing it. He could hear his woman in the kitchen gossiping while she braided the hair of the fat girl from the apartment below. He hollered, “Baby, I'm gone. I'll be back in a couple of hours!”

“All right, Bing! When you come in make sure you bring me some Pralines ‘n’ Cream ice cream from up there at Dunkin' Donuts!”

He yelled in return, “Girl, all yo pregnant ass think about is that damn ice cream! It might be late when I come in!”

“I don't care! Just bring my ice cream, I'll wake up!”

Bing laughed as he left the apartment. As he walked out of the building's entrance he could hear the quiet humming of his Regal's engine. He crossed the street and popped the door lock with the remote. Inside the car's cabin, the stereo remote was clipped to the sun visor. Bing pulled it down and used it to turn on the stereo. The sounds of DMX came thumping from the trunk. Checking his rearview mirror, he got ready to pull out of the parking space. Ahead of him a pair of headlights halted his progress. The car was slowly driving down the narrow street—in the wrong direction.

Must be some dumb-ass clucker looking for some shit
, he thought.

With his hand on the steering wheel, Bing waited for the car to pass. As the silver Honda Accord got closer it slowed down, then stopped.

Bing tried to make out the driver. Whoever it was had a fisherman-style hat pulled down low on his head, successfully concealing most of his facial features.

The driver of the Accord rolled down his window and motioned for Bing to do the same. Bing thumbed the pause button on the stereo remote, then used the power switch to slide the glass out of the way.

Bing asked, “What's up, homie, you lost or something?”

Through his teeth the driver of the Honda replied, “Nall, homie, you just lost.”

Bing said, “What the fuck did you say?”

Then he recognized the wires and rubber bands in the mouth of the man driving the Honda.

Insane Wayne hefted a chrome .357 onto the Honda's door to steady the heavy pistol. Grinning, he said, “You just lost your life.”

“Damn!” Bing exclaimed as he closed his eyes and braced himself for the shots. A few seconds passed. He peeped out of his scrunched eyelids. Then they came—fast, loud; then hard and painful; then nothing. Bing couldn't tell how many of the slugs from Wayne's gun hit him—the first one removed the part of the brain that used to help him count. His fingers flexed for the last time, pushing the pause button on the stereo remote in his hand. Music escaped from the speakers again as Bing fell over across the seat rest. The Regal lurched forward as his quickly stiffening foot slipped off the brake, causing the Regal to crash into the rear of a U-Haul truck ten feet away.

Wayne tossed a green baseball cap with a gold embroidered
A
on the pavement near the rear wheel of the Regal. Making sure that it didn't shatter, he flung a Moët champagne bottle in the weeds by the car. Mimicking DMX, Wayne put the Honda in reverse and backed down the street.

“S
OMEBODY GET THE DOOR!” SAMANTHA YELLED FROM THE
kitchen. With one hand she swept her microbraids from her face as she pulled hot dogs from a large pot on the electric range. A few seconds later the doorbell rang again, startling her. She dropped the tongs into the boiling water and a little of it splashed on her hand.

“Fuck!” she shouted. Her hand came to her mouth. “Oh, I'm sorry, Mama,” she said as she remembered her mother was sitting at the kitchen island, smoking a cigarette and drinking gin.

“Don't mind me, Sam,” her mother said. “Shit, you already acting like I ain't even here. You might as well keep on cussing with that foul-ass mouth. Don't you or your twin pay me the least bit of attention. Y'all been acting like I'm in the way or something since I got here. Tabitha ain't said shit to me and here you is cussing, like you ain't got no damn home training, right in front of yo mother.”

Samantha walked over to the stainless steel sink and rinsed her burned hand under the cold water. While her back was turned to her mother, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling and whispered, “Help me, somebody.” She patted her hands dry with a towel and turned back to her mother.

“Mama, please don't start. Not today. This is your grandson's birthday party. Tabitha is out there in the yard trying to keep all of those kids entertained. You came in here to help out, I thought.”

Lillian Terson-Liston dismissed her daughter with a wave of the hand. “Sam, you can gone ‘head along with that bullshit. I
came over here to get drunk and spend some time with my grandson.”

“Well, why don't you go out in the back with Tabby and the kids then?” Samantha headed back to the stove and used a large fork to remove the tongs from the pot. When the tongs cooled off she began removing the remainder of the hot dogs from the pot.

Lillian said, “Girl, you got to be crazy. The two things in this world that I'm scared of is clowns and animals. As long as them damn ponies and them fucking clowns is out there, I'll be my high-yellow ass right in here. You know that I don't fuck with clowns and animals so you have hired them motherfuckers on purpose, trying to keep me away from my grandson.”

Samantha was busy stuffing hot dogs into the buns and lining them up in a foil pan. “Mama, sometimes you say some stuff that I can't even believe you would say. These ponies and clowns are for my son and his friends, not to scare you. I didn't even order them. His uncle paid for them. The jumping jack, the ponies, and the clowns.”

“Humph,” Lillian said and took a sip of gin. “I wonder who that motherfucker killt to get the money for that shit.”

“I didn't kill anyone, Mother dear,” Solemn Shawn said from the doorway of the kitchen.

A look of fear shadowed Lillian's face. Quickly she took a gulp of gin to steel her nerves before turning to confront her eldest child. “You still sneaking up on people, huh? I guess that's what you gangsters do. Sneak up on people to steal their shit and take their lives. Once a sneak, always a damn sneak.”

“I don't know how I was sneaking and I was dragging this,” Solemn Shawn said, pointing to an engine-powered go-cart by the kitchen entrance. The go-cart was bright orange with racing-stripe stickers and fat, knobby tires. A colossal blue gift bow was mounted on the steering wheel.

“Ooh, Shawn,” Samantha bubbled. She rushed over to hug Shawn and give him a kiss on his clean-shaven cheek. She hit him
on the chest. “Boy, you gone spoil my doggone son. He already be walking around here smelling his own butt, talking ‘bout what his uncle gone buy him.”

Solemn Shawn let his eyes smile as his sister bent down to get a better look at the go-cart. When she stood, he pulled an orange crash helmet from behind his back.

Samantha hugged him. “Boy, you know me. I was just about to ask you where was his helmet.”

“Well, ain't that sweet,” their mother said sardonically. She left her seat and brushed past Shawn and Samantha on her way to the bar in the living room to refill her glass with gin.

“Forget her,” Sam whispered.

Solemn Shawn looked glum. Samantha slid her arms around his waist as if to hug him. Instead she tickled him. He smiled and gave her a gentle stiff-arm.

“Girl, don't be tickling me.”

“Yeah, don't tickle him,” their mother said as she reentered the kitchen. “God forbid that you make Mr. Gangbanger laugh. Shit, then he might have to have you killed. Or he gone have a couple hundred of his thugs beat the hell out of you.” Lillian walked back to the stool by the island and perched on it. With her elbows on the marble top she took a sip of her drink.

Just then Tabitha, Samantha's twin, burst through the patio doors. Except for a few pounds around the hip and bust area that Samantha gained and never lost during her pregnancy, Tabitha was her carbon copy.

“Sam, you better get those hot dogs out here. These damn kids is hungry. I saw the little fat girl from down the street looking at that cute gray pony like a steak. In a minute she gone have that little horse on the barbecue grill. Shawn!” she screeched as she noticed her brother. Tabitha ran and jumped into Shawn's arms, kissing him all over the face.

“C'mon, Tabby,” he said bashfully. “You gone knock me over. And you getting slob all over my glasses.”

“This is so touching,” their mother said. “It makes me want to throw up, but I don't want to waste perfectly good alcohol. I'd rather go outside with them nasty-ass donkeys than stay in here and witness this bullshit. Y'all up in here acting like this murdering motherfucker is the damn pope or something.”

“That's what you need to do, Mama,” Tabitha said. “You need to go outside instead of sitting in here drinking up all the gin you can get your hands on and talking crazy. But knowing you, if you went out there you would have the clown crying. I can see him now, his face paint running.” Tabitha turned to her twin. “I was coming to tell you that the ponies is about to leave. The guy said that everything was cool and that him and his people would clean up any hay or boo-boo before they leave the premises. The photographer got some nice shots of the kids on the ponies and he's going to shoot a couple more rolls of film when the clowns start the magic show. The clowns are ready to start but the kids are squawking for hot dogs.”

Samantha covered the hot dog tray with Saran Wrap. “Let me run these out there,” she said. She dipped through the patio doors.

In the kitchen they could hear the children chanting for the hot dogs.

Tabitha laughed. “I told her they was hungry. It sounds like they about to kill her out there. So what's up, big brother? I ain't gone even ask you about this go-cart. I just know you be getting the bomb gifts. What you been up to?”

Before Solemn Shawn could answer, their mother said, “What you think Mr. Big-time Gangster been up to? Stealing, killing, and drug dealing. And not always in that order. Motherfucker don't know how to do shit else. Always trying to act like he so calm and shit, with his violent ass. I'm ashamed to know that you came out of me. You the reason why I drink. I be trying to forget that my only son is a murdering-ass thug.”

“C'mon, Shawn,” Tabitha said as she grabbed his arm and pulled him through the patio doors. “You know how Mama is when she
get drunk. She always looking for a scapegoat. That's why I had to move out.”

The huge backyard was colorfully festooned. Multicolored streamers hung from the trees and bordered the fence. Several clowns congregated in a small tent preparing for their magic show. Children milled around the picnic table covered with the birthday party spread. An elaborately decorated chocolate sheet cake was the centerpiece of the table. Samantha, assisted by a couple of the children's mothers, was trying to make sure that all of the kids got a hot dog. The children were pushing, shoving, and yelling. Amid all of the confusion, Little Shawn, the birthday boy, saw his uncle Shawn and raced to him. He dove into Solemn Shawn's arms.

“Uncle Shawn, Uncle Shawn!” he spouted. “We been riding ponies and I got clowns. The clowns are about to do some magic tricks, but all these dumb kids is hungry. Uncle Shawn … and I got a jumping bag. We been bouncing around.”

“Boy, slow down,” Solemn Shawn said. “Tell me, how old are you today?”

“I just made eight today, Uncle Shawn,” Little Shawn responded proudly. “Grandma said that you weren't going to make it. She said that you were too busy doing stuff, but I knew you were coming. I know that you got me the ponies and clowns and stuff, Uncle Shawn.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I know that my mom, Aunt Tabby, or Grandma won't go anywhere near any kind of animal.”

Solemn Shawn and Tabitha laughed.

Little Shawn grabbed his uncle's hand. “Are you going to stay for the magic show, Uncle Shawn?”

“I'll have to see about that. Where's your father?”

“Mom said that he was flying in tonight. He was finishing up some architect stuff on a building in Denver. I talked to him today though. His son—I mean my brother is here too. But forget about
that, Uncle Shawn. What's up with my present you said you were going to get me?”

Solemn Shawn covered his mouth with his hand. “Oops, I must have forgotten it.”

Little Shawn punched his uncle in the stomach lightly. “C'mon, Uncle Shawn, stop kidding.”

“All right, all right. Go look in the house and tell me what you think.”

Little Shawn let go of his uncle's hand and dashed for the patio doors. Bright-eyed, Solemn Shawn waited with Tabitha for Little Shawn to return. They were distracted by Samantha at the food table.

“Y'all better get over here and help me serve these kids!” Samantha yelled.

They smiled as they walked over to the food table. Solemn Shawn was handing a juice box to a little girl with missing front teeth and a million colorful barrettes in her hair when Little Shawn came hurtling out of the house. He jumped into his uncle's arms, almost bowling him over for the second time that afternoon. As his nephew hugged his waist, Solemn Shawn looked over his head and directly into his mother's eyes. She was standing in the patio doorway with her drink in her hand. She spit into the flower bed beside the doorway, then retreated inside.