"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.