“My father is not here,” Junior replied, emphasizing the word “father.”
Suave let out a long, deep breath. “Fine. I’ll go see if he’s at the house.” He turned around to walk away when he felt a sharp pain shoot up his leg. Raging, Suave rushed Junior and punched him in the mouth when he realized Junior had kicked him.
The two boys exchanged blows before Suave got the upper hand and flung Junior to the ground. He sat on Junior’s chest, raining blows all over his face. Unfortunately for Junior, he messed with someone who had a lot of anger buried deep inside, and Suave was letting him get a dose of it.
“What’s going on here?” Mason rushed in and hauled Suave off Junior. “Relax!” he screamed when Suave tried to get around him to take another go at his son. “You too,” he yelled at Junior who had jumped to his feet, blood running from his busted lip, trying to get to Suave.
“I have a strong mind to whip both of your rumps.” Mason glared at the two boys.
“He started it.” Suave pointed at Junior. “I only came to get the rest of my deliveries, and he kicked me.”
“That’s a lie, Daddy,” Junior replied. “He just punched me in the mouth for no reason.” He wiped his busted mouth with the edge of his white T-shirt, smearing it with blood. Turning pleading eyes to his father, Junior begged for Mason to believe him.
“Suave, don’t go around attacking people.” Then Mason glared at Junior. “I know you’re the one who started it and have the nerve to be lying to me. Go home and stay there until I say otherwise.”
Junior shot Suave a look that would have killed him if it could before he marched away, mumbling threats under his breath.
“I’m sorry, Mason,” Suave said to his mentor after Junior left. “I should have walked away from him.”
“Someone hit you, and you walk away?” Mason peered at Suave through squinted eyes. “Listen, Suave, Junior is my son, and I love you like a son as well, but don’t ever let anyone take advantage of you. You must nip it in the bud. You understand me?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll never let anyone take me for a punk again.” Pastor Ralph popped up in Suave’s mind.
Mason remarked, “If you cut off the head of the snake, you kill the body. Always remember that.”
Suave nodded his head, a fierce look on his face. “I hate snakes.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Oh, how I love Jesus . . .” Pastor Ralph sang merrily as he sprawled out on the couch in the living room. He took a sip of his black coffee laced with white rum, then belched loudly, the rum burning his throat a little. He looked at his big mug, puzzled. He tasted more rum than coffee. Hmmm, guess his hand was a little heavier on the rum than usual.
Taking another sip, he glanced over his shoulder toward the back room and yelled, “Suave, I’ll be there in a moment.” Pastor Ralph giggled. “Set yourself up, boy.” He roared with laughter, his head feeling a little light. “Tonight, I’m going to make you a man. Hahaha.”
Suave felt goose bumps wash over him at Pastor Ralph’s sinister laugh. But instead of the usual fear, fury swam through his veins, his heart hammering in his chest. “You cut off the head of the snake, you kill the body,” Suave muttered softly. “You hate snakes. You kill snakes. If not, the snake will bite you.”
He got off the bed, knelt, and looked under it. Just for reassurance. His eyes fell on the big, sharpened butcher knife and the coil of rope.
Earlier that evening, after he completed his runs for Mason, Suave went home to put his plan into action. He entered the empty house through the back door he had unlocked that morning. He closed his bedroom door and sat on the bed sharpening the knife on the whetstone. Back and forth, Suave’s hand moved, over and over, until the blade of the big knife glistened.
After he hid the knife and rope under his bed, Suave then strolled into the kitchen. Pastor Ralph’s thermos with his spiked coffee was sitting on the kitchen counter. He reached under the cupboard where he knew the rum was and emptied the contents into the coffee. Using a match to light the small two-burner gas stove, Suave reheated the coffee in a pot before pouring it back in the thermos, nice and hot.
Too hyped to lie down or sit, Suave was nervous as he paced the house. Tonight, he would stop Pastor Ralph’s sexual abuse. Tonight, he was going to prevent the monster from raping him and turning him into a punk.
Tonight was the night.
Later that night, Suave was peeping out of the front window when he saw Pastor Ralph heading toward the house. He ran to his bedroom and closed the door, unable to lock it. He knew it was only a matter of time before it was opened again by Pastor Ralph.
And he was right.
“Ready or not, here I come.” Pastor Ralph’s words were slurred as he opened the door and staggered into Suave’s bedroom. The loud music filtered in with him. Pastor Ralph’s eyes were glazed over when he saw the figure hidden under the sheet in the middle of the bed. “Trying to hide from me, Suave?” he slurred and hiccupped.
Pastor Ralph stumbled toward the bed, leaning over it, and slapped what was supposed to be Suave’s rump, but his hand connected with a soft pillow. Suave had used the pillows to form a figure on the bed. “What the—”
“I hate you!” Suave screamed from where he was hiding behind the door and shoved Pastor Ralph hard. Pastor Ralph went flying onto the bed, facedown.
“Hey, what—” The rope was now around Pastor Ralph’s neck, tightening by the second, biting into his neck. Pastor Ralph grabbed at the rope and weakly tried to pry it from his neck, but he had
