CHAPTER FIVE
He felt like shit. Somebody had mercy and had thrown a blanket over him on the outside porch swing. Stiffness riddled his body and connected to the pounding in his temples. He couldn't immediately open his eyes and face the blast of Arizona sun. But the fact that it was hard to breathe made him struggle to sit up.
Carlos eased open one eye and peered at a blurry image before him. Faded Navajo hues went in and out of focus. Rider was sitting on the steps, his head down and face hidden beneath a weathered, brown ten-gallon cowboy hat. An Indian blanket was wrapped around him, but didn't fully cover the rifle on his lap. Rider's chest rose and fell slowly with the steady rhythm of slumber.
As soon as Carlos stirred, Rider's index finger twitched against the gun trigger. He lifted his head slowly and stared at Carlos.
"Not bad for a tired old man."
"Not bad at all," Carlos said, his voice coming out like a frog's croak.
"I had your back," Rider said, and then reached behind the post he was leaning against to retrieve a bottle of Jack Daniel's. He opened it with one hand, screwing the cap off with two fingers while pushing the bottle between his thighs.
Carlos shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand. "What time is it?"
"Morning," Rider said bluntly. "And too damned early for me to be drinking, so I've heard." He shook his head and smiled, and offered the bottle to Carlos. "Ain't for me. It's for the snake that bit ya."
Carlos wanted to nod, but couldn't. The thought of moving his head brought tears to his eyes. He leaned forward by raising only his shoulders off the swing, and extended his arm to receive the bottle, wincing from the slightest exertion.
Just the smell of alcohol made him want to wretch, but he leaned over the side of the swing and took a shaky sip of it anyway. The moment the liquor hit his lips, it burned, and the hard swallow sent an acidic scorch over his tongue and down his throat to smolder like liquid fire in the pit of his stomach. Two seconds later it was back up again, along with everything he'd ingested the night before.
He held on to the wicker, shuddering, heaving, his eyes closed, upchucking his guts, sweating, while Rider calmly struck a match and lit the end of a cigarette. Smoke curdled the smell of vomit under his face and set off a new wave of nausea until all he could do was dry heave.
"Marlene's method of cleansing takes too long," Rider said, once Carlos had flopped back onto the swing. "I'll get it before the flies do, sometime later today."
Carlos lay on his back, breathing hard in short bursts, willing away the nausea. He didn't know whether to thank Rider or to attempt to jump up and kick his ass. "Thanks, man," he finally said between pants, opting for the more reasonable choice.
"Like I said, I had your back." Rider stood slowly, took another drag on his cigarette, and shook his head as he looked down at the porch.
"Damali call you?" Carlos asked with his eyes still closed.
"Nah. Could smell you coming from half a mile away. Burnt ash and booze. Figured you and me had a lot in common."
Carlos attempted a slight nod, but didn't open his eyes.
"I used to show up at this very house like that," Rider said in a wistful tone, moving downwind from the putrid mess Carlos had delivered on the porch.
Carlos winced and pushed himself to sit up. "I've gotta get this up before Marlene freaks."
"She ain't here, so no rush," Rider said coolly.
His mind wasn't making synaptic connections, and it was hard to judge time. Scratching his head didn't help jump-start his brain. All he could imagine was that it had to be late, if Mar wasn't around. "Well, if Mar won't bug, Marjorie sure will."
"She ain't here, either," Rider said calmly, sitting on the rail on one haunch and flicking ashes over it. "I'm babysitting today."
"Huh?" Carlos groaned, and finally swung his legs over the edge of the wicker swing, avoiding the throw-up by his feet.
"Well... it's like this," Rider said in a weary tone, inhaling slowly and making the red embers at the end of the cigarette glow. "Last night, after the group powwow, which I'll fill you in on in a moment, Miss Inez, as you recall, had left her usual kitchen magic under aluminum foil before she'd gone out of town again, made all these vegan dishes that Marlene has been insisting on. Actually, they were pretty good reheated. But then the girl messed up and made a rack of ribs with a side of potato salad to go with the greens and cornbread, especially for Mike - which is what sent Mike on a mission to Houston with her in the first place. Now what'd she do that for, I ask?"
Carlos laughed, even though he had to hold his skull with both hands to do so. "Oh, shit. Chain reaction."
Rider flicked his near-dead cigarette butt over the rail with two fingers. "Kaboom. How long did it take Mike to be out and hop a flight to Houston with Inez?"
Carlos smiled even through the pain.
"I know you're still in hurtin' from a night out with the fellas, but I want to elaborate on the chain-reaction theory. Now, as you remember, dude cleaned off the last bone, dropped it in his plate, girlfriend reached for it to take it back into the kitchen - next thing you know, Mike stood up, grabbed his Hummer keys, and asked Inez to walk him to his vehicle. Ain't seen 'em since. But I don't think even a werewolf would mess with him last night."
"No doubt," Carlos said, and leaned back against the furniture to keep the porch from spinning.
"Next thing you know, after our late-running convo last night, Shabazz was saying, 'Mar, can I talk to you for a minute?' You know how smooth he rolls - made it seem like they needed to convene about the situation at hand, and those two were out the back door. Not sure if Marlene zapped them into another dimension or what, but they ain't home."
Carlos didn't say a word and just stared at Rider and then closed his eyes again.
"Berkfields broke camp, too. Dude stood up, got a gun and his keys, and said, 'Marj, let's go.' Didn't think the man had it in him." Rider laughed.
"She went, just like that?" Carlos was incredulous, and it made him open his eyes to squint at Rider.
"You missed it," Rider said chuckling. "Her face got all flushed, and she hovered around the children, giving them instructions on what to do, her cell phone number, and then looked at me with these puppy dog eyes, and I knew I was the babysitter. So, I holstered up and told her I'd slow down on the Jack and things would be fine." Rider sighed. "But not before I laid a hand on J.L.'s shoulder. That's when Berkfield nodded and walked out the door." He smiled at Carlos. "Some things don't need to be said. They just boil down to a man-to-man understanding."
Carlos knew exactly what Rider meant. "Listen, the thing last night with my boy..."
"I understand," Rider said. He looked down at the vomit. "No blood in it, so I reckon you're fine."
"No, man, that's not what I'm talking about."
"You staggered your ass up these steps with my help, starting at twenty-five feet out in the front yard, and fell down so hard on the swing that somebody shoulda yelled timber. I've been there. Gets cold outside at night in the desert, so I threw a blanket over you. Every now and then I'd put my eye on ya, only because you were tossing and turning so much, like a man with a lot on his mind�and I didn't get concerned until I saw a little fang crest... but, hey, it's daylight so I didn't dust you in your sleep. The fact that you actually did go to sleep at night helped me put things into perspective."
Rider pulled out another cigarette and allowed it to dangle from his lips as he searched for his matches again. "Me, Dan, J.L., and the kids had a great night of poker."
Carlos didn't respond for a moment. Several things were competing for dominance in his cloudy mind. He noticed, too, that Rider hadn't mentioned Juanita or Jose's whereabouts. The one thing he knew for sure was that what was said openly was as important as what wasn't said at all. He also hadn't mentioned Damali. Big, obvious oversight. Major.
"You need to stop smoking, man. Not like I can tell you what to do, but that's like slow suicide, and I don't wanna see you go out like that."
"Appreciate the sentiment," Rider said, allowing a slow release of smoke to filter out of his nose. "Guess we're all prone to relapse." He stared at the end of the cigarette. "Haven't done this in almost thirty years, but a lot of things are working my nerves."
Carlos let his breath out hard and shut his eyes again. "I hear you."
"Do you?" Rider said coolly.
"Yeah, I do."
"Let me explain something very slowly, then," Rider said, easing off the porch rail and stretching his back. He glanced at the rifle that was leaning against a post. "Me and the old guard have approximately one more month to finish training you, right about when your house will be finished, and then you'll be a full-fledged Neteru. What you do with this second chance is your business. I'm a very simple man, with very simple requirements to live. I understand vices and make no judgments about what other folks do. I've accepted my fate. I don't ask for a lot; I'm very philosophical in that way. At my age, I avoid unnecessary stress; I don't battle over bullshit. But every man has his limit."
Carlos stood with effort and went to find a mop. Nothing more needed to be said to Rider, except maybe thank you.
Rider looked at him hard when he returned to the porch. "Did you or did you not hear me say we had a powwow, once? A meeting, twice?"
Carlos just stared at Rider for a moment. "Everything's fuzzy, man."
"Then, you need to clear up your head, pronto. Damali was here, after a demon attack."
Carlos dropped the mop.
"Father Patrick said call on a seer-lock. Airwaves are compromised."
Carlos sat down slowly.
"Your homeboy, Yonnie, watched the front yard, while Tara stayed on the porch to protect you... in case whatever tried to smoke Damali came for you - but let me add that the Neteru apex you're beginning to trail sent a little red through her eyes. So, I sat out here with both of them," Rider said, his voice tightening and escalating with every word, "to keep you from being turned into a Third, and then subsequently getting your heart ripped out by your best man, if she couldn't help herself!"
Carlos squinted as much from the volume of Rider's voice as from the scenario he painted. What Rider had endured was too insane. "Man, I'm so - "
"Don't fucking say it!" Rider shouted, pointing at Carlos. "Damali was in there locking with Mar to see about the fate of the world. I'm out here babysitting you while watching my woman, who has already gone off with another vamp bastard, try to sip air and be cool in both his and my presence! We got kids in the house, and some crazy bullshit on our asses. Maybe a compromised werehuman out in the woods nearby, a Zen master that knows this and is ready to turn the house out if Marlene breathes wrong - while my ace, Big Mike, who can body slam anything, is out in Houston eating barbecue and getting laid!"
"Rider, man, lower your voice. I hear you," Carlos said, holding his head.
"Lower my voice? Lower my voice!" Rider hollered, walking in a circle with his arms opened wide. "What the fuck is going on, I ask somebody! Our primo sensor, smooth operator, the one who knows all this demon realm shit like the back of his hand, is dead damned drunk - and so pitifully so - that a master vampire can give Damali a nod with full fangs in his mouth and ask her if she wants a lift home?"
"What?" Carlos tried to stand, but had to sit back down.
"Damali is gonna have to fill you in, or Father Pat - somebody�because right now, I lack the patience!"
Rider punched a porch post and walked back and forth. Carlos held both sides of his skull and tried to stop the reverberating gong Rider's bellows created.
"But, I'ma tell you this, captain. The girl was angry. Had a right to be. Don't take that shit out on Yonnie, you deal with it�because Yonnie did what any male of any species would do, all right. He saw an opportunity. Damali was spittin' nails, she was so furious. There was something lurking out there - she got one of them - her dead foster father and - "
"What?" Carlos whispered, allowing his hands to drop away from his skull.
"I take it you know the import of that?"
Speechless, Carlos couldn't even nod.
"Yeah. That's why Yonnie offered her a master vamp transport lift home with the caveat that, if she wanted, he'd hang around till dawn as her personal bodyguard. He was gonna do the invitation by mind lock, seeing as how we were all on the porch, by the time she was ready to leave... and Tara was there. But, Damali said no, so he had to just put it out there and see if she'd take the bait. Now you can evaluate that however you'd like."
Rider stared at his hands, using them as invisible scales in the air. "One way, a man could say, my friend is honorable. I'd do no less. On the other hand, one could say, I played myself. Girlfriend is old enough to take a nick and still do daylight. She killed a predator, but her emotions were raw and vulnerable last night, and I was out cold."
Both men stared at each other hard.
"You better get real clear this morning," Rider said in a mercifully quiet voice. "You've got a family, a post to man, and responsibilities. There were kids in the house, what if one of them was yours?" He sighed wearily, but his tone held no apology in it. "Me, yeah, I'm probably an alcoholic, I'll accept the title. But I'm a very functional one. So, know this. I'm never away from my post when I'm supposed to be there. There is no old buddy from my old days in the streets that can come into this family unit and pull me outta here and get me to the point where I imperil my own."
Rider leaned against the post and looked at the mess on the porch floor. "Except Tara. Yeah, I screwed around and got more than nicked. But I even let her go, my heart, so I wouldn't come back in here one night and not be myself - you got that?"
"Rider, man, listen... I - "
"I don't want that sonofabitch on this property. Period. I do not ever want to have to babysit your ass for the bottle or any other vice, not if you're gonna take equal partnership to lead this household. Period. If one Neteru goes off shift, the other one goes on�and when y'all can find time to do what you've gotta do, somebody's fucking radar better be turned on, because, if you haven't noticed, the Levels are consolidating power, heat in the system is ramping up."
"I know, man, but - "
"No, you don't know jack! My old friends had bad habits, too, dude. Mike ain't on our shit list, because he informed us where he was going, when he was going, and when his flight touches down this afternoon, he'll be lucid. Your ass, most likely, ain't gonna dry out for another twenty-four hours. I've got a cell phone number to everybody else that rolled outta here this morning. Even if their cell phone vibrates so hard it gets up and walks across a hotel night-stand, I can raise a lucid Guardian within an hour, the moment they catch their breath and say their last 'I love you, baby' - you hear me? Your days of being absent without leave all night and coming back fucked up and needing to regen for twelve hours of daylight are over."
Carlos let his breath out hard and leaned on his forearms.
Rider lit another cigarette. "Stupid as it sounds," he said, dragging hard on the butt and exhaling rage "with the smoke, "I almost kinda liked it better when you were all vamp. Was easier. We knew what to expect, and the one thing we could always count on was nothing would roll up on Damali and possibly take her out. You were on the case. Wouldn't even let us do anything that could put her in harm's way. You were the fortress, man."
"I liked it better that way, too, hombre," Carlos muttered. "You just don't know."
"Yeah, well, pull your shit together and stop bellyaching," Rider said, his glare focused on the walkway and he drew in another hard drag that hissed. "I liked it better when I was twenty-five years younger. Liked it better when I could take one of Tara's Fourth-gen nicks... Oh, yeah, there were things I liked so much better than this current state of affairs I find myself in - like babysitting a new male Neteru who has yet to get his head screwed on straight. I bet Shabazz liked it better, too, when Kamal was in Bahia, but he ain't. Guaranteed Berkfield liked it way better when he was just a cop, and wasn't policing demons away from his daughter or watching her about to get her bones jumped by our team's computer whiz kid. But shit happens. Things change. You find yourself in new circumstances, and gotta cope. Grow up and take a number. Everybody on this team has something they liked or wanted way better than this."
Rider flicked away the half-smoked butt and looked at Carlos without blinking. "By rights, I should be the one who was lying passed out on that swing. If you had any sense, you would have been the one over there at Damali's new place, no matter what she'd said, talked your way into her door - like the master you used to be, and made the best of the new circumstance. You've got opportunity and gifts you're not even using, brother. The thing that's kicking my ass is, of all the people on the team, if you would get the spirit of this change together, you could have it all like it used to be... You've got the money, the girl is still crazy about you�don't ask me why. All the newbies hang on to your every word. Had Dan reaching for reasons why you were out cold." Rider pulled his fingers through his hair and hocked again.
"There's a lot of things that are real different, man, that are hard to explain." Carlos scanned the horizon. There was no way to capture it all on the porch.
"My simplistic trailer-park-roots advice is this. Don't allow time to pass and wind up living on that swing, because your boy bested you at your own game, or a Guardian brother just happened to be in the right place at the right time... or we go do a job in some foreign land and she rolls up on one of the one-hundred-and-forty-four-thousand Guardian options out there and makes a decision because they had their heads on straight and you were off the job. The quicker you let go of what was old and figure out how to work with what's new, the better.
"I'm going to go do some target practice, something useful and productive that'll keep my skills sharp and keep me out of the doghouse, to release some of my old tensions," Rider said with sarcasm. "I had your back, last night. Still got it, but the Yonnie thing worked my last nerve. I need to go shoot something."
Carlos looked up slowly. A combination of emotions tore through him. Rider was pissing him off, but truth resonated within every angry word. Guilt lacerated him. Rage shook him. Worry made him weary. Damali's state of mind and what he'd missed while out sent dread and a spike of adrenaline through his every cell. Then the layers and degrees of all of those things, plus so much more, began to peel and blister. Humiliation was in the mix; he just couldn't separate it out from the rest.
Rider nodded toward the mess on the porch and began walking down the steps. "You need to clean up your own shit before the young bucks and the women see it, dude. Stop wallowing in your own crap. Find out what the new mission is from somebody that has patience, I'm not the one today. Call the priest, whatever. Then go down the road and fall on your sword like every man has to do when he fucks up real bad. It's simple."
Carlos stood watching Rider's back as he trudged down the path, kicking up dust before rounding the house. What was there to say? He sent his line of vision on the horizon and squinted and then stared in the direction of Damali's new house.
Was it any wonder that she was lukewarm about getting married and wasn't ready to tie the knot legally, on hallowed ground? He'd felt it before, but knew it now. Rider hadn't lied. Could he blame her? Damali had waited all her life for this?
Carlos glanced over his shoulder at the puke on the porch and frowned. For all he knew she, by rights, might be blaming him about her losing the baby. Or, maybe it was the way they just weren't the same when together... like that last time together in Philly could still be in her head - he was angry, she was angry, and he'd never touched her like that in his life... nothing had been right since that.
The insane part was, he didn't even know where to begin to make that up to her. Or maybe it was simply the Light being too done with him. After Lopez, he could understand why Heaven would be fed up enough to make Damali turn away from him for good.
"I don't know," Carlos whispered, closing his eyes to the too-bright sun. Maybe it was all of it, or none of it. For the first time in his life, he wasn't sure what to do, and she wouldn't even really talk to him... kept everything to surface bullshit. At the same time, he was just as guilty, because there was no way he could honestly talk to her about this.
He just shook his head, which made him wince. Damali had actually gone down to square off with the Chairman like he should have... She ran the team better than he probably ever would. She knew the Neteru code cold. She had met with her queens and they'd offered her swift guidance, when his kings had simply marked him and left him to figure life out on his own.
Plus, she'd shape-shifted so smoothly that it gave him chills when she went from black adder to panther, and had held Hell in check until she hit multiple targets with authority. Damali was moving up in skill and rank, while he was on the bottom rung of becoming whatever he was supposed to be. Rank busted. What was he supposed to do with that? More important question: What would she wanna do with that? With him?
No doubt about it, she was evolving into something more spectacular than she'd already been and was in full control, total command, just like he used to be. He was proud of her, but the joy was bittersweet... just like she'd crooned to all the masters in Sydney, it was a bittersweet transition, from time to time.
Even up in Gabrielle's establishment, Damali had to show him how to get back on his horse and ride... and the way she'd bent light up his spine and had him close to pure ether... There were no words for it. Girlfriend was bad. She had to be simply tolerating his ass these days.
That was unforgivable; not her actions, but his. No wonder she didn't feel like it, all their love notwithstanding. Familial love was something real different from Eros, any fool knew that. So when she says, "I love you, baby," what does she really mean? he wondered. Which kind? General, like family, or specific, like you're my man? But that was a stupid mental question, because what had he put down with authority lately?
Skills all fucked up, head jacked, powers shaky... Shit, he couldn't stand his damned self, why would his woman? So, no, it was better that they didn't try to mind lock. Maybe they both had enough sense to know that they might find out some real deep shit that neither of them was ready to address.
Carlos hung his head. Every part of his body felt like he'd been beat down. He missed it all, and couldn't lie to himself or the Light about that any longer. He missed everything, the old nights, to be more precise... damn... when a throne gave him absolute power and control over everything in his world. A time when he could walk through walls, bulk to beat down any predator, step to any challenge... with strategy like a razor, game to the bone. Variables, not a problem - he could work four corners of a room with unparalleled mastery, because he was a master. He could blow Damali's mind and show her some shit she had never seen before, and leave an echo print on her soft skin that would make her holla just from the heat of his breath against it. Those nights were gone. He had to suck it up and deal with his new reality, or new sentence.
He thought for sure after he'd been shown some new shit by the old boyz in Ethiopia, and then on the road, things would go back to the way they were. But how did he begin to deal with the fact that now he was always two steps behind her, instead of leading the charge?
Damali had taken to the Light like a fish to water; he'd been dragged into it kicking and screaming and was currently drowning in it. The Light had blessed her with radiant beauty and unstoppable power; it had stripped his ass bare and bled him out, as far as he was concerned. Fair exchange. His baby had rolled on Level Six, pure gangsta. He'd seen her do that cold-blooded shit with his own eyes, which had left him both proud of her, but fucked up behind it. The combination was unsettling. Somehow that was different from what she'd done in McGuire's castle, because at the end of the night, then, he was still Councilman Rivera... he owned all the territories in the world, and had worn her beautiful ass out lovely in the desert.
"Ain't that always the way," Carlos absently muttered as he began cleaning up the porch, tying everything he'd been thinking about into a tidy military-style bundle to clear away.
Yet, a jumbled, tangled pile of thinking lay at his feet. He might as well have dumped his dresser drawers and tried to quickly shove everything back into them. Same process. Once everything was out, one had to deal with every individual item, carefully lift, handle, and fold each piece, quite a process if the furniture was overstuffed from the get-go. His black box was. He hated cleaning out his box as much as he hated his turn doing team laundry and cleaning up the aftermath of a night out with Yonnie. It was sloppy.
Carlos glimpsed the mop with sudden disdain. The mundane had claimed him. He had been given the gift of life, but from all indicators, he was still trapped in another world, one of mediocrity, filled with senseless struggles that caused nothing but heartbreak. Yeah, he was still serving time, more like marking it than living it. Cool. He'd figured it would go that way - maybe he'd traded a living hell for a dead one. He'd amassed enough debt for either side to make said point.
"Es decepcionante." Very disappointing, indeed. Carlos glanced through the screen, hoping nobody would come outside to see him at the messy task of cleaning away what he'd upchucked. What he had now were spotty powers that worked when they felt like it, and a family to care for when he couldn't half take care of himself.
And what about the vamp females that would inevitably come out of the shadows when he reached his apex for real? What then? He was supposed to be this millennium's male Neteru, but wasn't even sure he could take down one vicious vamp female and dust it if it rolled up on him in the midnight hour; but he knew Damali could. He'd seen her nearly smoke four vamp bitches with their masters present. So now Damali was his bodyguard?
It wasn't supposed to be like this. He couldn't even look at her, right through here, and abruptly trained his line of sight on the horizon, remembering the freedom of wingless flight. Mist. Smooth exit. Except that wasn't an option this morning.
To his mind, there was just a certain way things should be done. The complex problems really had simple solutions, but the whole issue of souls and their metric weights added variables that frankly seemed to cause more confusion. The angels knew everybody in Hell was double-dealing, so why didn't they just come down, go prang, and fix this shit with the quickness? He knew the Light had awesome veto power, but the way they used it just strung his brain out.
That was something he definitely had to ask Father Pat one day. He had questions like, why all the riddles, intrigue, mayhem, and choice drama? Lucifer had aces and nonsense up his sleeve, so the other side, to his thinking, should just do the damned thing and straighten out the madness. Zap that bastard, too, while they were at it, and be done.
He'd had this partial conversation about the use of power when the Covenant had first rolled up on him in a parking lot at Nuit's building. What now felt like a long time ago seemed to be a simpler time, too. Just whack one slimy mofo and save his woman angst. But even then the Covenant couldn't negotiate directly with him to cut a deal. They had to take it higher up, and wait for a long decision. Whereas the side that shall remain nameless seemed to work on a different timetable. Instant gratification.
Like, in the old nights, he could have solved Rider's problem with one feral elevation nick, and made him a master so his woman would never stray again. Rider was drinking and smoking himself to death anyway - there were viable options... if one wanted to get technical. It wasn't his first choice, but he was sure if he was in a position to make a tender offer to a man slowly losing his mind over something like that, hey, the thing would be simple. He knew Rider well enough to know that if the shoe were on the other foot, hombre would be down to do whatever needed to be done. That's what he liked about Rider - the man was practical, a realist, said what others were too chicken shit to say. He respected that.
They could have discussed it over Jack Daniel's, shook on it, and the deal would have been done. It wasn't about allowing a respected amigo to suffer. Rider was grown; one allowed a grown man to choose his own way out. At least that's how it was done where he was from... East L.A., by way of Mexico, and a small pit stop along the way. But topside or sub, you didn't leave your tight homeboy to twist and have his heart butchered slowly by memory Harpies or his guts pulled out by shit too hard to digest. A favor was in order, for a real good friend caught between a rock and a hard place. De nada. Same night. Right on the spot when he and Rider stood up from their bar stools.
How different was what he proposed from watching a fellow soldier blown half to bits, still alive, guts lying everywhere... no chance of recovery, and begging for a bullet in the temple to stop the pain? Done quietly on the battlefield every day with honor.
Carlos shrugged and glanced up. No answer. His solutions spiraled darker as he continued to think about it all and mop off the porch.
To keep the peace, since they were family now, and a strong family was a necessity in any realm, he would have given Yonnie enough playmates to take the sting out of the loss... he'd get over Tara with the replacements he could have made for his main man. Then, by rights, he woulda backed Kamal up to an appropriate distance so Kamal could get his head straight and go home, and Marlene could relax enough that Shabazz could stand down without losing face. Respect for the family's Aikido master and their philosopher extraordinaire coulda stayed chill. That was power.
There was a way to do everything, and a way not to. That's how he saw it. Regardless of the Light, all of this was sloppy. "I ain't trying to offend," he said quietly, talking to the porch floor. "I just don't understand."
'Cause he mighta been able to share a little suave with Dan, so the young buck could go pull a superfine babe older than Krissy, get laid on the regular by a double-D-cup blonde, and stop wigging every time Berkfield's underage daughter was near J.L. See, that was the thing to do to deescalate a potential nuclear situation. It didn't have to be like this.
He would have just taken Bobby out into the night, too, while his momma wasn't looking, and gotten him sho' 'nuff straight. Marj was worried about homeschooling her boy... Sheeit, he woulda schooled the boy right, and all would have been very co-pacetic. She could tell Krissy whatever, and let her daughter eventually grow into her own.
Carlos smiled. J.L. just would have had to deal until then, like he did. He loved the brother, but J.L. wouldn't die from having his nose wide open, would just feel like he was gonna, but hey. He'd waited for Damali, and had lived... well, kinda sorta. Survived was more accurate. Still. Her daddy was in da house, and Berkfield was a good man that he owed, so even in his old life, he wasn't gonna fuck with certain protocols. Peace.
That's right. Besides, he mighta been able to have a little convo with Juanita to make her go on and be with Jose, no past haunting thoughts allowed. He'd wipe the slate clean. Jose deserved that level of man-woman lock without her side glances toward an old flame, and in that very brief platonic discussion he coulda made Juanita think hombre walked on water. Sheeit, and for his brother, 'Nita would have been the alpha and the omega. Problem solved. No more drama.
Yeah. If he was back on his old block, back on a throne, he woulda given Jose a double dose of some mad-crazy shit, 'cause he owed his line brother his life for watching his back... woulda given him all he wished he could have given Lopez to make up for the fallen. That woulda been a fair exchange, even in his old world.
Coulda then put them all in an off-da-meter lair with every convenience, but built like Fort Knox. Wouldn't have turned nobody but Rider, all Guardian souls would have been intact, minimal losses. Everybody happy. There were a lot of things he used to be able to do without breaking a vein. The Light would have lost the only weary soul in the transactions, Rider's, one that's quickly slipping from their grasp any ol' way, if they didn't give the man a break and some immediate relief.
"He's only human," Carlos said, his voice tight from anger, going down the steps to retrieve a garden hose. Who knows, since it would have been done for love, maybe the Light coulda worked a deal for Rider, too? Shoulda. Maybe they wouldn't have been too salty with him for doing it, since it woulda been a mercy nick? Moot point. He no longer owned the equipment to do anything like that.
Regardless, in his old nighttime splendor and under his protective seal, within his heavily fortified lairs, they would have all lived like the royalty they were, and not been fugitives livin' on the run. Carlos sprayed off the mop and then shot water across the porch, lost in darkening thoughts.
What good was money when you couldn't spend it to the max? Screw the police inquiries about where he might have gotten phat-paid, and fuck the feds, whoever, his shit would have been all vamp. Untraceable. Situation smooth.
That would have chilled out Marj, therefore Berkfield - cool people who deserved some respite from worry, like everybody else. Fam. He woulda taken care of his peeps, all of them. That's what he'd tried to do before he'd been turned. It was still in his DNA. Serve and protect, but he preferred to do the shit with style.
Carlos laughed quietly. "Yeah, but don't worry, I would have also given a healthy tithe on the down low to you, Father Pat�wild as that sounds. I would have been discreet for both of us to stay politically correct."
He had to get out of his own head before he lost his mind like Rider. Because, if he'd had it his way, after all that, then he woulda stepped to the Chairman mano-a-mano in Hell, like it should have been done... handled his business for both himself and Damali�snatched a bone out of that old bastard's ass, then come home to his woman, righteous, and laid down V-point so hard she woulda walked away with twins. Carlos smiled. One day. Maybe one night.
Then all would be right in the world, and nothin' would have dared to slither up into his domain topside to make any of the teams ever have to go to war again. Shit, after that, he mighta even been so bold to have taken the Chairman's throne, fair exchange, almost, given the blues the sonofabitch had levied on him... but there would never be enough to repay what he'd done to Damali.
However, the shit woulda been cool, until he said it wasn't. That was power. Being able to protect his family with unquestioned authority and to make their world sweet. Paradise. No static. Plush environs. To know what they wanted before they even had to ask. Ultimate provider. Stone-cold soldier that nobody fucked with, thus no one dared fuck with his people. That was how a man was supposed to handle his bizness.
He, as the man, was supposed to have that burden solely on his shoulders; his family was supposed to live, laugh, relax, be taken care of, all needs met. Bam. Consider it done. Every man's secret dream was to be able to do that.
Carlos dropped the hose and stared at his palms. "Is that so wrong?" he whispered.
His woman wasn't supposed to have to do shit, unless she wanted to... and he was supposed to hook her up so lovely that she didn't wanna necessarily do jack but chill. His baby could just sing and leave her blade at home. Talk about a dream come true...
She wasn't supposed to have to go to Hell and back and be worried about being attacked all the time... too scared even to think about carrying their next child, too stressed to sleep at night, too nervous to make love to make another one. Wasn't supposed to be buggin' about being his wife or tying the knot legal... talking crazy shit about living by herself to have space to think. Think about what, after all they'd been through? If he was on the job, there'd be no decision. Be no arguments. The word no about everything lately would be banished.
The shine had gone out of her gorgeous eyes under the strain. No wonder her silver never lit; the girl was exhausted. Beyond fatigued. He'd allow that to happen to her on his watch, was off the job, so she had to pick up the damned slack. Isn't that how his mother grew old fast, dealing with his father's pitiful bullshit? God, don't let that happen to him.
Carlos took his time walking up the steps. Coffee was calling his name.
Naw, this was not supposed to be the way it was. Damali deserved the world, and at one point, he'd been able to give her that. His state of affairs had become a travesty, and yet his woman tried her best to make it all seem like it was okay. It wasn't. He knew it; she knew it. That's what she had to think about, most likely. But that she'd made the attempt only made him love her more... and made him equally more determined than ever to fix this bull fast.
"This ain't me by a long shot." Carlos sighed heavily and looked at his hands, then snapped hard once. "Power used to jump off with a pop, just like that," he whispered, enraged as he stared at the flimsy screen door. "So, if I'm the male Neteru, where's the serious juice that comes with the new title? I got a woman and a family to take care of. Y'all listening? How am I gonna take care of my kids when we have 'em?"
By any man's standards, especially his, if the truth be told, his old throne was something hellacious to be reckoned with by comparison to what he was dealing with now. It was about resources and the broad definition thereof. Always had been, he'd told Father Pat that from night one. Rider said talk to the old priest - about what? It might not be what the Covenant wanted to hear, but he was being honest in the silent morning hour.
Facts mentally dissected in the cold light of day weren't always pretty. He had his reasons for doubt, issues that had not been addressed, a legitimate argument, and nobody was giving up answers that made sense, to his mind. All of it tumbled in on him like a ton of loose pyramid bricks.
To him, his soul was tethered by steel cable to his understanding of manhood. Period. It felt like C4 had been rigged to that definition, then exploded, and his soul had caught the shrapnel, took the impact as the blast whipped up the tie line; it had snapped and was strangling him.
He knew he'd been tripping since Philly, but couldn't help it or stop himself as his tortured soul began working on his embattled mind, unraveling it as what was left of his soul clawed to survive, until his body had gotten involved and simply malfunctioned. All aspects of the dilemma were unacceptable to him. The Light needed to get with that.
This new life had disintegrated everything he believed a man should be. At this juncture, he wasn't sure if he cared if the Light took his thoughts the wrong way. So what that they had issues, he did, too. Yeah, he'd work for them from either side, as he did before - if it ever came down to that, again. He knew the deal in spades by now, aces wild. His woman and her family needed the table slanted to the good just to grant them peace. No problem. But not being able to do that for them the way he felt it efficiently needed to be done was torture. Was it wrong for a man to dream? Was ambition with good intent a sin? Not hardly. Not where he was from.
Carlos opened the door the old-fashioned way, walked into the house, and let the screen door slam shut behind him.
