reach one, he guessed.
Two nights a week, staffers from Outreach Inc. trekked across the city, checking spots known as stops for homeless teenagers. Bus stops. Bridges. Parks. Downtown rooftops. The places varied and morphed. King knew what 'street night' entailed. Wayne had discovered him on one such street jaunt. Set him on a course to better himself and realize his potential. Where King went once he got his feet set was up to him, but the possibilities were endless if he could imagine them for himself. That was the rap Wayne gave him, despite there not being that great a gap in their age difference. But it stuck with him.
King glared out the window, angry at the passing scenery, lost in grim thought. He heard rumors about his cousin being out on the streets. Alone. Scared. Abandoned. She might have taken off on her own, Lord knew her mother was no prize, but family should have been there for her. Should have chased after her and taken her in. But family failed her the same way it had failed him and he was determined not to let history repeat itself.
'Outreach Inc.,' Wayne called out. A few groans rang out from a couple cubicles, pissed at their disturbed rest. King flashed the beams in the direction of every sound. 'Anyone need water or food?'
A few hands poked out from behind the blankets and tarps. A linebackersized altar boy passing out communion of water and peanut butter crackers, Wayne made his way along the path. King couldn't help but be impressed with Wayne's easy manner. Not just how comfortable he was, but how gentle. To be around him like this, there was a spirit of nurturing about him, passing through him, that the kids responded to. Wayne spoke of Outreach's services and they listened. He spoke about school options, and they listened. He offered to pray with them and they bowed their heads.
When the two of them reached the last of the out croppings, Wayne repeated his announcement. A female voice stirred.
'Michelle?' King dared ask.
The rustling within the chamber paused. The blue tarp parted tentatively, a shadow stirred among the deeper shadows. King sensed they were being studied.
'Who that is?'
'King. Your cousin.'
'King?'
A baby girl, maybe all of fourteen, stepped from the hovel. Despite all of the hardness she wore like dented armor, the upturn of her head and beaming face betrayed the kernel of innocence she clung to. Her eyes sparkled with something… undefeated. Her smooth round face wasn't haggard, wasn't worn to premature age. Her figure wasn't gaunt nor her manner reduced to hunger. She still carried her notebook filled with incomplete letters to various boys in her class and odd poems she'd started but never finished.
She was safe.
'Leave her alone.'
A man rushed from behind the compartment and tackled King. The flashlights clattered on the ground next to him. The man snuck him a few times in the kidney as King regained his breath. Though bigger than his assailant, the man obviously knew how to fight. King shifted his weight and put his knee into the man's side throwing him off of him. King tried to remain reasonable, putting his hands up to show that he didn't want any trouble. Scrambling to his feet quickly, the man warily circled King, shifting his weight from foot to foot, leaving King unable to read his next move. Looking to land a right hand, his awkward stance attempted to work his way inside. A heavy shot from King left him a bit wobbly. King hoped it would be enough to make him rethink his attack.
They squared off again, arms up, ready for the other to make the initial feint. The man ducked past King's blows. An errant elbow pushed King's head back, which left an opening for a flurry of wild punches. Then that cold thing in him erupted. The needless fight was starting to piss King off more than anything else. Snarling as he charged, he lashed out.
Heads popped out. 'He don't give a fuck.' 'Knock that nigga in the head, fool!'
The little man wrapped King up about his legs and shoulders, leaving him with only one free hand to whale with. The man's shoulder took the brunt of the damage as he gained the footing to tumble King over. He prepared to begin kicking him when Michelle screamed.
'Lott! Stop it. He's my cousin. King. He's not here to hurt me.'
Still locked in a frenzied bloodlust, he seemed to not hear her.
'King! This ain't how we do things out here.' Wayne raised his voice and hardened it. That seemed to snap the two of them out of their fugue.
'Aw man.' 'That was garbage.' Rejoinders from the crowd dissipated, their evening's entertainment coming to a disappointing end. They returned to their spaces.
'What's this all about?' Wayne asked.
'It's just… word on the street was that someone was looking to hurt Michelle.' Lott directed his comments to Wayne, but kept a wary eye on King.
'The Pall?' Wayne asked.
'No. None of the usual pimp suspects. A dealer is all I know. I still don't know what she did…'
'I told you, I didn't do nothing,' Michelle protested.
'But someone's pissed enough at her to put a bounty on her.'
'Not if I have anything to say about it.' King puffed his chest and put an arm around Michelle. Futile declarations, macho preening in front of Lott and Michelle as much as anything else. The words rang with iron and determination. Both King and Lott stood ready to die in her cause for all the good it did her.
King had been the first to find her. Slumped down, legs akimbo, her jeans thick with blood drained out of her. Flecks of blood speckled her cheek. Her melancholy face turned with a faraway gaze, her eyes glazed. He cradled her in his arms until they were numb and he long past feeling or caring.
A trace scent of a familiar cologne clung to the air.
King remembered the words he said to Lott when he found his voice again. 'Every man wants to be larger than himself. He can only be if he is part of something bigger than himself.'
Guilt had a way of gnawing at Baylon during his quiet moments. He had hurt a lot of people in the past. Not that he intentionally set out to hurt them, but just in the course of him doing his thing. Concerned only about what he wanted and felt with little regard for the feelings of others and the consequences of what he considered to be 'my business'. How his sometimes stupid and selfish acts altered the courses of people's, too often his friends' lives. Relationships irreparably damaged often without the luxury of making things up to folks. Fixing matters wasn't always an option: what was done was done. Sometimes you just had to carry the weight of your bad decisions and selfishness and hopefully let them shape you into a better person. Though he hoped that some of the people he had hurt in the past might have the chance to see the person he had become.
Though the memories had a way of becoming a part of him.
Griff sat next to him on the couch, though he didn't react. He merely angled his body more toward Dred, hoping his body language didn't betray his burgeoning fear. Not of Griff, because the dead only knew things, but more of him losing his mind.
'You still with me, Bay?' Dred asked. 'Look like you faded on me there.'
'Stress,' he said, as if that covered the answer to any question Dred might have asked.
'You need to find a way to relax. I think I can help you out there.' Dred positioned his chair directly across from him. Growing more solemn, as if overtook by a darker aspect, he began speaking. 'Let me tell you a story told by the old people. Among his tribe there once lived a young man, prosperous in all he did. His fields flourished enough to feed his village. His cattle numbered enough for the wealth of ten tribes. All the people knew his name. The only thing missing from his life was a good woman, someone to share his life with and give him a family. Good women, though a rare treasure, presented themselves regularly enough for a man with his wealth. He had the daughters of prominent men and nearby tribal chiefs offered up to him frequently. But none caught his heart.
'One day, a young woman caught his eye. Of course she sprang up from where he least suspected he would find a woman: from his own village. She had grown up alongside him yet never before had he noticed her. In both beauty and intellect, she pleased him and with that, they were married. His greatest fear in allowing himself to fully love another was that she would be taken from him. And in all too soon a course, their time together was cut short as she grew sick and death claimed her.
'The young man became obsessed with her. He went to her house, but she was not there. He slept in their bed, but it ached with her empty space. He walked the banks of the river where she fetched water and washed
