Chasing Taboo

The crew was sitting around the table in pensive silence. Mixer chewed the inside of his mouth. Ace and Wildcard glanced at each other, trading quiet jokes with their eyes. Stone leaned into his elbows, resting his jaw on his hands with his fingers pressed together. Seneka sat on Wildcard’s lap, holding in giggles.

“So…” said Hero, standing over his family. “…what do y’all think?”

Seneka popped with chuckles. “I think it’s sweet.” She smirked at Wildcard. “Hero’s too shy to be himself, so he’s using his street cred to hook the female. He’s one smitten kitten.”

“Hey,” growled Hero. “It ain’t like that.”

“Yeah, sure it ain’t,” smirked Wildcard.

“Why don’t you just tell her what a useless, pathetic hood rat she is until she leaps into bed with you?” asked Ace. “Like you normally do?”

Wildcard nodded in agreement. “Yeah, none of this bullshit is necessary.”

“Hey!” Hero was a second away from de-evolving into a child, a five-year old impatiently stomping the ground for a cookie. “Our numbers are dropping, we gotta step up our game, and this is a great way to bring in some white business.”

“But we’ve never needed or wanted white business,” said Stone. “You’re just making excuses.”

“Making excuses,” snickered Seneka. “It’s so cute.”

Hero shot her a heavy look. “You’re not helping me.”

“Mixer,” Stone attempted, “please tell Hero this is a stupid idea.”

Mixer shrugged. “But Hero always know best. He wouldn’t be doin’ this just to get with some chick.” He looked at Hero for affirmation.

“That’s right,” affirmed Hero. “I’m doing this for the good of the family, and need you all behind me—keep Olivia safe, okay?”

“I got you.” Wildcard tapped Seneka’s thigh. “I gotta go make a few runs.” He was the first to leave the table.

“Me too,” said Mixer. “Whatever you think is best, hy’ung.” He left.

“I think I’m with Stone on this,” said Ace, rising to his feet. “But you never let us down before, so I’m gonna trust you know what you’re doing.” He gave his brother a grave look. “But you better not get Olivia in too deep, alright?”

Hero nodded as Ace left the room.

Seneka headed for the stairs, shaking her head with a small smile. “King Tut—that’s what I’m gonna call you, baby King Tut. The teenage king, that’s you.” She went upstairs to get ready for work. “So cute.”

Stone stayed seated. He didn’t look at Hero until the room was otherwise empty.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Hero. “But I swear it ain’t like that.”

“Sure it ain’t.”

His sentence was punctuated by the irritating screech of the smoke alarm, but they both ignored it.

And just like that, Olivia’s monotonous routine was replaced by a shiny new thrill-ridden one. Lie to Mom and Dad, secure Penny as an alibi, and go where Hero needed her to be.

She went from being an outcast at the club to being an all-out focal point, all according to Hero’s plan. He knew exactly what he was doing—a sea of laser-shooting eyes suddenly became an ambush of ass-kissing lips. Complete strangers hugged her as if they were old high school friends.

Hero let her dance as long as she didn’t grind on any strange men; she had to remain available, but unattainable. He had a cheery disposition showing her off at the club, holding her hand, and taking extended breaks from the control center to pose with her on the floor. And the king’s subjects were more than curious.

Guys with V neck shirts, showing off their pecs. “Hey O, what’s up?”

Guys with threaded eyebrows and too much hair gel. “Pleasure to meet ya, snow bunny.”

Girls with coal-lined eyes and layers of lip gloss. “Oh my God, I love your dress!”

And Cheeks, her pupils wall to wall. “Having to pee tastes like pickle juice and having sex tastes like chocolate. Do you know what I mean?” Olivia did, which disturbed her.

She was permanently invited to join Hero in his office, unlike any of his other girls. Sometimes they made fun of the thrusting automatons on the floor, but for the most part he just judged her.

“We need to do something about your hair,” said Hero, lifting up a small section of her chocolate tresses. “I know somebody who can do some shaping kind of thing.”

“As long as it’s not Kai’lah,” muttered Olivia.

Hero looked at her as if she said a space ship landed on the patio. “Who told you about Kai’lah?”

She told Hero about Mixer’s photo album.

“It definitely won’t be Kai’lah,” he said. “I’ll call and make you an appointment.” He called. “Make yourself available Thursday at six.”

“I have work.”

“I said make yourself available. How you do that is your problem.”

Olivia knew what was next on the schedule once the club closed. Hero would offer to let her spend the night at his house, an offer she always declined. He didn’t expect her to perform any sort of intimate services—in fact she had no idea what he expected—but that had little to do with her apprehension. The second she heard that annoying smoke alarm sound shrieking through 912, all she wanted to do was go home. Then he would call her back to the club and the process would start all over again.

One night, Hero took Olivia’s hand and led her up the stairs to the star balcony after a brief encounter with an obnoxious hipster in glasses. Barely a minute after the guy was gone, Hero was already laughing at him.

“That guy’s glasses have no lenses in them.” He chuckled. “I fucking hate him.” He nodded toward the VIP area. “You know, for what these subhumans pay for bottle service, they could buy one of those DVDs and learn a whole new language, open their minds up to entire culture’s worth of intellectual thought. Instead they unload their wallets here and accomplish nothing.”

“If you hate them, why do you do this?”

“I find it rewarding to extract mass amounts of cash from people I don’t respect. Especially when it takes care of my family.”

Some commotion materialized toward the alley exit. Hero squinted slightly and leaned over, and within seconds he mentally composed the situation.

“Shit. Come on.”

He grabbed her hand and they rushed to his office. He planted himself at his desk, hit a couple keys on his keyboard, swiveled his chair to the monitors, and slapped a button on his intercom.

“Stone, talk to me.”

“Dragon problems. They on Mixer.”

Hero’s jaw tightened. “Shit.”

Olivia walked behind Hero to get a look at what he was seeing. There was a security camera in the back alley, so they got a clear view of a crowd was forming as some guy shoved Mixer around like a bully on a playground.

“Come on,” Hero said—to no one in particular.

The man laid a heavy punch onto Mixer’s face, throwing the boy’s whole body backward.

Hero hit the intercom. “Dub C, you on this?”

Wildcard’s voice popped up. “I’m watchin’ it, yo.”

“Watching it?” Olivia gasped. “Why aren’t you helping him?”

Hero lifted his hand. “Baby bird’s gotta learn to fly.”

The crowd forming around, though inaudible in the office, was clearly hollering. Mixer had fallen onto all fours, his torso expanding and contracting.

“Get up,” muttered Hero. “Get up, monkey.”

Stone’s voice. “Want me to go in?”

“Fuck no,” said Hero. “Then the Dragons will think Mixer’s the weak one. We gotta stand equal. Hold back.”

The man standing over Mixer was laying kicks into his rib cage. It looked like some blood was dripping from his mouth.

Ace’s voice. “Hero, he’s spitting blood.”

Wildcard. “It ain’t internal, he just busted a tooth.”

Stone. “You sure?”

Wildcard. “Yeah, that’s my boy, he alright. Come on Mixer, get the fuck up!”

Olivia hugged her own arms. “Someone’s going to call the cops if this doesn’t stop.”

“Let them,” said Hero. “Shit, Mixer, get up.”

Seneka burst through the door, leaving jet trails behind her. “Hero, Mixer’s—”

“I know,” frowned Hero.

Seneka moved to Olivia’s side as they watched the attacker circle Mixer like a wolf. The only sound in the room came from the bass buzzing through the floor—and the process of the three of them turning oxygen into carbon monoxide. Hero’s breaths were to the beat of the predator’s steps.

“Hero, you could make him stop at any second,” whispered Seneka.

“I didn’t get this family to the top by advocating inadequacy,” said Hero. “If he doesn’t defend himself, he deserve to get his ass beat.”

Seneka chewed on her fingernails.

“Come on,” whispered Olivia. “Come on, Mixer, get up.”

The attacker swung another leg forward, but just before impact, Mixer got himself a nice grip on it. Olivia’s breath stopped in her chest, and with whatever strength Mixer had left, he twisted the man’s body by the ankle, causing him to lose enough stability to slap the ground. With his opportunity open, Mixer climbed on top of him and beat that piece of shit into a stain on the gravel. And the crowd went wild.

“That’s my boy,” smirked Hero. He hit the intercom. “Stone, stop Mixer before he kills that motherfucker.”

“Got it.”

“Yo, Ace,” said Hero. “Why the fuck are there Dragons in our club?”

“Door guy didn’t recognize him. The guy’s drunk as shit, calling Mixer a pussy ‘cause of old times.”

“Figures,” said Hero. “I’m glad Mixer had a chance to prove otherwise.” Hero took his hand off the intercom and leaned into his chair.

Seneka didn’t move. She fingered her necklace and looked at the ground.

“You got a problem?” Hero asked her.

She looked at him. “No… I don’t got a problem.” She looked back down and began to walk toward the door.

Olivia observed Hero’s flower ladies as they treated Mixer’s wounds. He was sitting on a chair in the office as Orchid wiped the blood from his chin and Pansy disinfected the scratches on his elbow. Rose was wrapping gauze around the scrapes on his opposite arm.

“Hero,” said Mixer in a low, weak voice. “Thanks for not steppin’ in on that. I appreciate it.”

Hero kissed Mixer’s forehead and rubbed his hands in his hair. “I’m real proud of you, monkey.”

Mixer glowed like a kindergartner with an A on his spelling test, and though Olivia wasn’t at 912, she could have sworn she heard the beep.

After closing, Hero and Olivia headed down the road in Hero’s silver GT-R. Olivia turned down the music.

“I don’t get it,” said Olivia. “How does a person end up the way you are?”

“And what way is that?”

“Why do all these people do what you say?”

“Because if they do, they make money, and if they don’t, they get hurt. Pretty simple.”

“I don’t think that’s why Mixer does what you say,” said Olivia. “If you want me to keep working for you, tell me who I’m working for.”

He gathered his thoughts. “Alright, fair enough. So, from the beginning?”

“Please.”

“Well, we formed the Dragon Blades as kids in the Thomas Chaucer projects.”

“Also known as 8th Block?”

“Smart girl. A lot of bad shit was going on back home, and my family was one of the last to make it over the Pacific before shit went from bad to worse.”

“How much worse?”

“Like the government would rather shoot you than feed you worse,” he said. “Didn’t take long for more people to show up, and none of us had shit, so that’s how we ended up in the projects. Most of us, our parents were so busy trying to get their shit together we kind of had to fend for ourselves, find a way to survive. While Stone and Ace were still fighting the niggers, I was slinging crack for them and learning the game.”

Olivia winced. “Niggers?”

He laughed a little. “Oh, pardon me, I was slinging crack for upstanding African American citizens.”

“You could just say ‘black guys.’”

“They weren’t black guys, Larry Elder is a black guy. Bill Cosby is a black guy. I wasn’t slinging crack for Larry Elder or Bill Cosby, I was slinging crack for niggers. Now do you want to discuss the gap between your state sanctioned suburban education and reality or do you want me to continue?”

“Please, continue.”

“What I had that the nigg—pardon me, blacks didn’t have—were contacts overseas. Back home, the only money anyone’s got comes from drugs, so once I could learn how to get shipment into the country, I was made. We formed the gang and made a shit load of money real, real fast.”

He took her back to the house. Her stomach was in knots, but she couldn’t figure out why. She knew what was going to happen. The same thing always happened, and it was always something like this.

“It’s real late,” said Hero. “You can stay here tonight if you don’t want to go the whole way home.”

Her cheeks flushed.

“Don’t worry,” said Hero, “your position—”

“—doesn’t require any tasks of an indecent nature. I remember.”

With that same old disappointed look, he offered to drive her to the station. And once again, though she declined, he insisted.

Olivia’s phone went off at five thirty. Five thirty in the fucking morning.

“Hero,” she groaned. “It’s five thirty in the fucking morning. Why are you calling me this early?”

“To see if you’d pick up at five thirty in the fucking morning. I’m very pleased.”

“Well, I’m so glad to hear that. What do you want?”

“Very important job for you this weekend. Seneka’s birthday party, it’s the annual ceasefire between the Dragons and the Blades, and a good opportunity for the rivals to see me with my snow bunny.”

“Sounds like fun. I’ll be there.” She told him she would get down there herself, primped, pampered, and ready to be objectified by the drug dealing masses.

Dan came home from work Friday night with a giant bucket from KFC. Olivia, having been getting ready for the evening’s outing, was putting in her earrings and walking downstairs to witness his entrance. “Le gasp, father. I didn’t realize they had certified organic free-range grilled chicken at KFC. What will the health-harpy say?”

Dan laughed as he unpacked the meals. “Your mother’s working late tonight.” He looked at her suspiciously. “You look nice.” His tone didn’t match his words in the slightest. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to a party with Penny.” Olivia helped her Dad prepare their plates and they sat down at the table together. “So with Mom gone, does that mean it’s father-daughter bonding time?” She bounced with amusement. “Cool! So, how was work?”

“We build things. You?”

“We sell things.”

“Neat. We’re really good at this bonding thing, aren’t we?”

“That we are.”

They took a chow-down break.

“Okay,” said Olivia. “I think I’m ready to turn up the bonding intensity level.”

“Go for it.”

“When I was a little kid, do you remember what I wanted to be when I grew up?”

“Hmm. Refresh my memory.”

“A fighter pilot. You said that was a boy’s job and put me in ballet that week.”

“I did?”

“Yeah.”

He smiled. “You wouldn’t have been happy as a fighter pilot.”

Olivia played with her food. “How the hell do you know when you’re happy anyway.” She didn’t phrase it like a question. “Happiness might be just a good mood. And unhappiness could come from eating a bad lunch.”

 “That’s a pretty Sartre thing for you to say, Olivia. Way to contemplate the nothingness.” He had a loaded smile on his face. “You and Penny have a fight?”

“Why did you say Penny like that?”

“Like what? I just said Penny.”

“You you didn’t, you said—” Olivia stopped herself from becoming the most annoying woman she knew.

He took a bite. “You and Penny have been spending a lot of time together lately. Which is funny, I didn’t think you enjoyed her company that much.” He fiddled with his fork. “Olivia, you inherited your IQ from me, you do realize.”

“Of course,” she said. I certainly didn’t get it from my mother.

“Whatever snarky remark you just had in your head about your mother, thank you for not saying it.”

“You’re welcome.”

He stared at her. “Please tell me he at least has a job.”

No answer.

“You met him at Barrington’s, right?”

She chewed and swallowed.

“I’d rather you didn’t lie to me.”

She looked at him. “I’d rather you trusted me.”

He lowered his expression, beaten. Disappointed. “I’d rather I did too.”

The rest of their meal was shrouded in a cloud of silence. Excluding the beep in Olivia’s head.

When Olivia got to 912, the boys were setting up the keg and stocking the fridge. Wildcard jerked his arm from the grocery bags to the fridge in sharp, impassioned motions, steam rising from his ears. Olivia sat at the kitchen table while Mixer was fiddling with the stereo system and Stone and Ace were dealing with the keg on the back patio. Hero was doing God only knows what upstairs. He was good at making people wait.

“I don’t fucking like this,” grumbled Wildcard. “Fuckin’ Dragons in my goddamn house, all up in our business. If it wasn’t so important to Senny I’d say fuck this shit, fuck it all.”

“There’s a couple people gonna be here I wouldn’t mind seein,’” shrugged Mixer.

“Real manly of you to say, after what they done to you,” muttered Wildcard. Ace and Stone came back in and Ace closed the door behind them.

“What happened to me was done by one man, not by the whole group,” said Mixer as if rehearsing a script. “Love as a pack, live as a man. There is no collective soul.”

Olivia wiggled in the swivel chair. “So why do you guys fight the Dragons?”

All four boys stared at her. Beep.

Wildcard was the first to attempt an answer. “’Cause they rivals.”

“Yeah but why are they rivals?”

“’Cause they fobbie motherfuckers.”

“Yeah, but why are they ‘fobbie motherfuckers?’”

“’Cause they Dragons, Dragons is fobbie motherfuckers.”

“Yeah, but why do you call the Dragons ‘fobbie motherfuckers,’ what caused the rivalry?”

Wildcard frowned. Olivia waited patiently for an answer.

 “I don’t think I understand the question,” said Wildcard.

Olivia scoffed and looked to her employer as he headed down the stairs. “Hero, why do the Blades fight the Dragons?”

Hero made it to the floor. “’Cause they’re fobs.”

“Well, yeah, Wildcard and I established that, but why do you fight each other?”

“’Cause they fobs, that’s why. It’s just that simple.” He came over to the table and took a seat. “We got different values.”

“With the Dragons it’s all about where you came from,” explained Stone. “With Hero, it’s about where you go.”

The night traveled down its regular road, descending from peace to party in record time. Within the period of one hour, the house went from clean and desolate to a claustrophobic mess of human bodies and deafening, barely organized noise.

The Dragons were easy to recognize, and their definability made it easier to characterize the Blades in comparison. The Dragons were quieter, stood up straighter. Their clothes weren’t necessarily more expensive, but they were cut straighter, evoked a more elite vibe. They were older, but not in age. They were more, well, Asian. They reminded Olivia of the yakuza or something you would see from a Jet Li movie.

The Blades had more swagger, more style, more ostentation. Their expressions were bigger, their mannerisms more pronounced. They were better dancers—in fact they were the only ones who did dance, spinning light sticks and participating in mini break dancing contests in the backyard. Even Stone, who otherwise seemed to be void of any sort of playful nature, proved to be the best dancers of the bunch, save for Seneka. The Blades were cooler.

Another very simple thing made it very effortless to keep each gang distinct—absolutely no interaction between the two. Not at all.

Olivia was standing proudly as Hero’s arm candy in the living room, her eyes unable to refrain from their examination, her unabashed scientific study of the social experiment unfolding. There had to be a fight here tonight, there just had to be.

And then Crash showed up, as if on cue.

“What’s he doing here?” Olivia asked Hero. “I thought he was ‘out of commission.’”

“Just because a kid gets a spanking doesn’t mean he can’t have dinner with the family,” said Hero. “Stay by me, he might know you were involved in what happened to him.”

“What happened to him?”

“Well look at the happy couple,” said Crash, swinging a drunk arm around Hero’s shoulders. His pinky and ring finger were bandaged.

Olivia took a closer look. “What happened to your hand?”

“I was fingering this fine ass bitch,” said Crash. “And that pussy was so tight, she fucked up my hand, you believe that?”

“No.”

Hero gave her a look of warning.

“You just jealous,” spat Crash, moving his arm from Hero. “’Cause you loose as a goose, you done so much fuckin,’ right?”

“Crash, you’re drunk,” said Hero. “Walk away before you do something stupid.”

“Before I do something stupid?” Crash snapped. “Look at you! What, Hero, you fuckin’ white girls now?”

Olivia’s took a step forward. “Hey—”

“I ain’t talking to you, bitch!” Crash’s saliva slapped her cheek. “I was talkin’ to Hero!”

Hero looked at Crash, then at Olivia, and like a football father who just watched his son miss the touchdown, he shook his heavy head. He then grabbed Crash’s arms, tightened Crash’s palms in one grip, and with his free arm, smashed his head into the kitchen counter.

“And now you’re talking to tile,” hissed Hero, firmly twisting Crash’s broken fingers.

“Echh,” said Olivia, shaking her head with faux sympathy. “That’s gotta hurt.”

Seneka walked up with her arms folded, staring at Olivia and Hero with equal abhorrence. “Hero, come on, not now!”

“Not until this bitch tells Olivia he’s sorry,” said Hero.

“Fine,” said Crash, muffled by the cold counter top. “I’m sorry your bitch has such a loose pussy.”

Stone stepped in and took hold of Crash, grumbling at him with all the reasons for his removal.

“I’m sorry he called you a bitch,” said Hero to Olivia. “It won’t happen again.”

Olivia looked back up at Seneka, and a thin-lipped man with small, piercing eyes, a full suit with pointed shoes, and a hundred dollar honey-colored haircut was standing right behind her. She recognized him from the photos. Om’bai.

Om’bai smirked, looked at Hero, and said something that wasn’t in English, and whatever he said, it embarrassed Seneka. Om’bai, taking a moment to give Olivia a loaded once-over and watch his comment sink into Hero and Seneka, walked away with an accomplished strut.

Olivia turned to Hero to inquire what the comment was.

“He said…” grumbled Hero. “He said that even if there’s peace between Dragons and Blades, it don’t stop the Blades from fighting themselves.” He looked at her. “Like animals.”

Seneka looked up at Hero and Olivia.

“King Tut,” she said, and mangled a smile of respect before walking away.

Olivia huddled into herself. “Why do I get the feeling that my being here is hurting more than helping?”

Hero looked down. “To be blunt, that remains to be seen.”

Beep.

Tags: Ace, Crash, Hero, Olivia, Olivia's Point of View, Om'bai, Orchid, Pansy, Rose, Seneka, Stone, Wildcard

This entry was posted on Saturday, August 8th, 2009 at 7:33 pm and is filed under The Story. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.