The 'N' Word, Book 1 (41 page)

While they sat in silence, Aaron danced with his whirlwind thoughts, became dizzy from the hard-hitting beat. Darryl, his best friend, his brother from another mother sold high-powered handguns. Some were rare, the kind Northern millionaires would fly in on their private jets to get a crack at while they sat in hot auction halls in the Deep South, bidding and biding their time. Others were the kind your average mother wanted, the kind to shove under the bed and use at the slightest sound of an intruder.

Darryl had the type of weaponry knowledge that gun enthusiasts could sit around a campfire and listen to all damn day. His hidden shop was one of the best, but his common customer was your boy next door, for he possessed a healthy, run-of-the-mill selection, too. The man had a vast stash of artilleries in his old, creaky attic and locked away in a dark crawl space. His small home served as a secret, tucked away storefront that required knowing a friend of a friend to access, and a complicated password that changed daily, too. Licensed or not, he had something for you if you passed his home grown and brewed verbal exam, to boot. There was a reason he’d proved successful at what he did – he knew how to keep his goddamn mouth shut. He made a good living out of it too, even trained several members of their organization on how to shoot straight as an arrow in recent years.

“Jesus Christ,” Aaron murmured, shaking his head. He swung his leg over the bench, his thigh strained from the sudden, jerky movement as he rode the solid, somewhat lopsided thing jokey style. As he sat there for a moment or two, he looked around at the other inmates talking and moving about in a small, pent up and shelled away barbwire covered realm obscured by old spent blood, stagnant dreams, and dried vomit from unattained vocations and goals; this was what they served for breakfast, lunch, and dinner at Holman. The main course of men’s’ misery would be eaten as-is, or one would starve…

But which was better? Eating or starving? Did it matter?

Their souls had faded and disappeared long ago, leaving behind sinister shadows that barely breathed but were addicted to snuffing out the mere chance of life. The place was haunted with ghosts, only these spirits still had warm, coagulating blood barely moving within their clogged veins.

This is my damn life…

This is where I’m at…

This is what I’m doing… But what am I doing? And for what?

Aaron, who the fuck are you?!

At that moment, he looked a few feet away and recalled sitting there not long ago to speak with the black man who’d given him pause… Marcus. Yes, a man… a man with a pulse. A man with skin the color of semi-dried dirt baking in the sun after a hard rain. A man that didn’t smell of old, stinkin’ trash, whose lips didn’t swallow his entire goddamn face… He didn’t look like a fucking monkey; didn’t sound like one, either. He was a man who said smart things, humorous things, depressing things, all sorts of interesting things… He was the one with strange words that made complete sense, the one who had caught a bad break… the one who had a family he loved and gave a damn about himself, too…

He wasn’t a bastard, born out of wedlock from a loose, welfare and drug addicted mother. His father was no criminal, out attacking the world and using his blackness as an excuse. Marcus was no walking stereotype.

He’s like me. No he isn’t… he’s better than me…

That black guy KNEW who the hell he was. This was more than Aaron could say for himself, which was for damn sure.

Yeah, right over there. That’s where we sat and talked…right there…

He pointed at the bench as if it were covered in gold dust and glossy, fresh pearls and closed one eye as the glaring sun tried to shoot down his sight. So he sat there, partially…
blind
.

…But now he could see.

Aaron rolled his tongue around in his mouth as he dipped deeper in thought. A new wave of realization overcame him, snatched his ass up by the damn throat.

What do I call myself? Can I even see myself? The real me, what I am… what I was meant to be? Was this what I was meant to be? Maybe not… I’ve been walking in darkness… but how do I find my way out?

My best friend is going to the damn chair… My friends fight from the time they get out of their cell, and can barely go to sleep at night. My daughter is a sweetheart, but somehow, some way, I know I’ve poisoned her. It’s just a matter of time before I see the proof… I’m a goddamn son of a bitch!

He simply couldn’t afford to lose more than he had already, which included his sense of self. He barely had any at all, let alone a portion to spare…

His cigarette dangled from slightly trembling fingers covered in tiny paper cuts as the ethereal smoke drifted up towards the bright sky and disappeared as quickly as it swayed away. Heaven engulfed Hell’s smoke at that very moment, then gagged on it, forcing it out as acid rain… and Aaron was the embodiment of Hell in the flesh…

…and the acid rain was the cold, hard, truth…

Afterbirth. After
death
?

Bon Appétit…

“Earth to Aaron.” Darryl chuckled, his laughter hoarse and cracked at the end.

Aaron slowly turned back towards him, a compulsory grin on his face. He took another draw of his cigarette, this one more leisurely, slow and easy like the first thrusts of anticipatory sex…

“So, how you been?” Darryl asked as he sat a bit taller and tapped his thick fingertips against the table. “Heard they had you in a four-piece suit for the longest… Silence of the Lambs type shit.”

“Yeah, I was in restraints, the keyholes covered, all that shit. Waist chain, leg irons, the whole damn outfit. My mouth was even gagged at one point. That’s how much they were afraid I would sway people. That aside…Darryl, I’m not doin’ too well, actually, man…not too good at all.”

“Aaron, no sweat!” He grinned. “You’ll be outta here in no time.”

“Yeah, if I survive.” They looked at one another, their expressions somber. “I’m goin’ through some things… things you might not understand. But right now, this very moment, this very second, my reality is all fucked up, Darryl. I feel like my family has turned on me, like somethin’ ain’t right, but no one will tell me. Everyone is either afraid to tell me what the fuck they know, or they are fightin’ against me. I can see the fear in their eyes… They’re afraid of me, and afraid of whoever is pullin’ the strings, too. And I’m caught, man. I’m stuck…” He flicked cigarette embers on the ground.

“Pullin’ strings? What are you talking about, Aaron?”

“I gotta be careful, can’t even ask the questions I need to ask…”

Maybe Darryl is in on the shit, too. The fucker didn’t even bother to write me or visit. Maybe I shouldn’t even be talkin’ to him right now…

Aaron snubbed his own spirally suspicions and pushed forward. His back was up against the wall of the condemned – wasn’t nowhere else to go but up, and his ticket to ride cost not a measly dime, just a drop of faith.

“I can’t say to anyone that somethin’ is up, because that could send the wrong impression, make me appear weak… vulnerable in some way. I can’t admit that I
know
something is wrong, but I can’t pretend it isn’t, either. As I said, I’m stuck, man.”

Darryl nodded in understanding, tapped some ashes into the ashtray, and stared at him intensely.

“Something is going on in here, Darryl.” Aaron scanned the area again, becoming more and more paranoid as time turned on him like a dime. He watched the inmates moving about, mentally disconnecting from them. He placed a barrier between him and the others – drew a line in the sand, one created for his own protection.

“Well, let’s start right here.” Darryl sighed heavily as his voice dropped lower than usual. “Let’s start at ground level. What
do
you know?”

“What do I know? Well, that somebody is pullin’ strings like I said, making choices, saying it was me. No one is willing to spill the beans, so I know a lot of ’em are in on it. They’re tryna act like business is as usual. I can only trust a handful of ’em, like Tony and Fred, and even them I’m not talkin’ to about this shit.”

Darryl’s face twisted up as the sun shined too brightly in his eyes.

“Tell me, man… Tell me what you’re thinkin’. Is it what
I’m
thinking?”

Aaron stared at him, failing to utter more words, but his brain worked and worked and worked, tallying and constructing complicated calculations of reason and misgivings.

“You don’t trust me, do you?” the man finally asked with a slight smirk. “Don’t you think I know that?” He pointed in his direction. “Look at you… Look at how you’re lookin’ at me. You went from happy to see me, to balling up your damn fist like you wanna piece of me. Look man, in your position, that doesn’t rub me the wrong way. That’s smart, that’s what you
should
be doin’ and thinking. I get it, I understand it, but as God as my witness, you’re my brother, Aaron! I’d
never
double cross ya. Now come on. Spit it out!”

He drew on his cigarette again, and he blew out the heated smoke like it was his last, beautiful breath.

“Somebody’s trying to take over my spot, Darryl, plain and simple. They want to be chief. They want to run the show and run this shit into the ground. That would require gettin’ rid of me and I doubt they care if I’m dead or alive at the end of it. I have to get to the bottom of it. I refuse to let whoever did this shit get away with it.”

Seconds passed by, during which Darryl sucked his jaw as if mulling something over and finally, deciding the flavor was fairly suitable and taking a hearty swallow.

“I’m glad you brought this up,” he began as he shifted his weight a bit. “This way I don’t have to go into an ice breaker or some Cracker Jack type shit like that.” He shrugged. “I ain’t seen you in a while, didn’t want to ruin our reunion with bad news just yet…was gonna wait another ten minutes or so,” he joked.

“What? What are you sayin’ to me?” Aaron cocked his head to the side as his dander got up. “You know something?” He swallowed deep, barely able to stand the sound of his own breathing in his ears, lest it cause him to miss an important detail with all of its pounding and carrying on.

“Yeah.” Darryl took another draw of his cigarette. “I know somethin’… Alright, here it goes, buddy. Look.” He leaned over the table and looked Aaron square in the eye. “Everybody ’round here knows you and I are like kin, so they watched what they said around me since you’ve been in here, but I still found out. Aaron, you’re a smart motherfucker. You already got it figured out, but I’ll cosign the shit. There’s a definite hit out on you.”

“Who is behind it?”

“Clyde.”

“Clyde? You can’t be serious!”

Darryl rolled his eyes and nodded.

“This ain’t no fun and games. Of course I’m serious, Aaron. He was going to let you rot in prison, ’till he found out you only got a year. Everyone was sure you was gonna be in here for a while after the whoopin’ you put on that nigger. We all figured he was sure to die. He ain’t dead though, and word got out that you wasn’t ’round the guys anymore, wasn’t givin’ instruction.”

“It was forced separation until recently! They
know
how this shit works! I was accused of jumpin’ ship?”

“Motherfucker, Clyde told
everybody
you was goin’ crazy! He had letters you’d sent him and everything. They said you was in here with some shrink because you was on suicide watch, too.”

“Bullshit!
All
of that’s a bunch uh bullshit! I wasn’t never on no goddamn suicide watch and I ain’t wrote him one goddamn letter, either! Whatever he showed anyone was a bunch of lies! Some shit he drafted up himself!” His blood ran cold, frozen block solid within him. “Clyde is like my goddamn blood brother! He was the only person on the outside, besides you, that I trusted!”

He rose from his seat, seeing crimson. Red blood seemed to run from the damn sky at that moment; the acid rain was no longer needed. No, heaven cried red, hot, volcanic tears. Heaven was now nauseous and forlorn, vomiting all over his demonic, tattered soul and reminding him that he was NO. DAMN. BODY.

“All this time, he told me he was out of town takin’ care of business. That lyin’ sack of shit! Okay, forget about Clyde for a second, okay?” Frowning, Aaron raised his hand in the air as if about to be sworn in. “Why didn’t you tell me, huh?! How could you
not
tell me this shit, Darryl?! All this time I thought it was an inside job, and come to find out, my buddy, the guy I thought would always have my back besides you, turned coat on me, too?!”

Darryl took his time and placed his rollup down into the clear, glass ashtray, now filled with their combined ashes. Their smolder had blended, become one… He looked coolly at Aaron, and then, his thin lips turned upward in a grin.

“Aaron, my brother. What advice did you always give me, huh? You’ve told me to
never
trust anyone, not even you.”

He bit into his own lip, almost drawing blood.

“I trust you anyway, despite your cynical advice.” The man chuckled heartily as he rested his big arms across his chest. “I did try to tell ya, Aaron. I was goin’ to get into all of that. I tried to write to you many times, but they stopped my messages. The prison
knows
who I am; they obviously didn’t want you corresponding with me. I tried again, used a different name, but they must’ve read the letter, ’cause even though I didn’t say it flat out, it was clear that I was warning you about something and I knew you’d figure it out, you know, after readin’ the clues I dropped. I sure as hell couldn’t call; they’d figure that out even faster. They’re so worried about an outbreak of race fights in here, they watch guys’ like us extra close. All of my mail I sent cha, it came back undelivered. I was on the list of guys not allowed to visit you, too, and the list is long I hear. But, worse yet, someone in here is helping Clyde, makin’ things harder for you… They are carrying out Clyde’s orders.

“There’s a mole in this goddamn prison and chances are high, you already know who it is. You ain’t wrong… someone is workin’ the
inside
, and someone is workin’ the outside, too… They’ve got you surrounded.” He tapped more ashes into the container.