circumstances beyond his control; at least, that was the lie he told himself when he found himself in situations he knew there'd be severe consequences for. He preferred to live in the minute.
'What about Green?' He asked not out of any worry about being discovered, but wanting to know that his conquest was complete.
'He out of town. Besides, Green don't own me. Would it matter if he did? Wouldn't you simply enjoy taking me even more if I were his?' Morgana issued a small smile. Being around her intoxicated him. Though he had never touched the stuff before, they did a line of cocaine. He hated the muddleheadedness of it, the slow creeping nausea and the lack of control that came with not being focused. He thought nothing of her then, breaking up a bud and rolling a fat, tight number.
The sounds of rutting animals soured the night. Their bodies pressed together, unbridled. Their passions flared with little thought for the next day. With each thrust he erased himself. Other than CashMoney and Merle, all the people he came up with were gone. In his heart, he knew his time was almost done, but as long as he breathed, there was time to rekindle his old fires. From the confines of her warm embrace, he answered the siren song of the streets and hoped to get out before his ship crashed against the rocks.
Piercing a fog of memory, Luther slowly recalled the past evening as the unfamiliar surroundings alarmed him. Already the spirit of regret churned in his belly. It took a few moments for the figure who loomed over him to coalesce into view.
'Baby, you gots to go.'
He hadn't felt Morgana stir nor heard her get ready. Her back to him, she fitted gold hoops into her ears. Her hair styled into Afro puffs, she wore a gold one piece jumpsuit dotted with maize colored swirls. Turning, she revealed a cruel smile, a cat in the afterglow of finally devouring a mouse it had long toyed with. Whatever spell last night held him in sway had been a heady one. She slipped on a pair of sunglasses to hide her cold, calculating eyes.
'What's happening?' Luther asked.
'Green on his way over.'
'Shit. I thought you said that fool was out of town?'
'He was. But he just called. Said he'll be here in a few.'
Shit shit shit, Luther thought as he threw on his clothes and tucked his Caliburns into his shoulder holster. Not that he was afraid of Green, but he hated needless drama. A deal gone bad, a confrontation on the street, those were the cost of doing business. Emotional stuff — and Lord help him if Anyay heard about this — exhausted him to no end. And no matter her protestations to the contrary, another man in her bed would drive Green to… emotional stuff.
His leather jacket wrapped around him, he rammed his probing tongue past her dispassionate lips. Her kiss was dismissive at best.
The first rays of dawn punctured the night, the closest thing to a peace time the streets ever knew. Freaks finally called it a night and young ones scrambled about to get up in order to tune into Cowboy Bob's Cartoon Corral. Going over plans for the heist, he thought of King and pulled a pack of Kools from his inside pocket. He had barely drawn out a cigarette when he noticed the car. A brand new two-door Cadillac Coupe DeVille — red with a white vinyl top — its 454 big block with a four barrel carburetor idled loudly. The door was open, displaying its opera lights. A lone figure leaned against it.
Green.
Luther stifled a grin. There were few things more dangerous than a young man with a loaded gun, light trigger finger, and nothing to lose. His blood raced. Adrenalized. He finished firing up his cigarette, cocksure and slow, as he sized up the man with the hint of a goatee and his dark skin. Green had the look of a dude who'd done a couple bids in prison, not some county lock-up. His suit was cross-checked with gold and green stripes. Emerald silk lined it and his matching cuffs. Gold rimmed shades encompassed much of his face. A gold, minky velvet coat rested on his shoulders, leopard fur trimmed it from his collar to the bottom and around to the back. A matching fedora angled on his head.
'If it's not the Spade King.' Green's voice was like bark being scraped.
'Green.' Luther walked up to him, hands in plain sight, but unafraid.
'Here on business?'
'I'm not on a hustle. Just visiting a friend.'
'A man needs to be careful of the friends he chooses. They may not always have his best interests at heart.' Green sauntered toward him, inexorable and deliberate, yet heavy with promise. 'You're a soldier in a war you don't even understand. You fight just to be fighting.'
'What you trying to lay on me? What about you?'
'Live for the Spring, die in the Winter; in between, I soldier.'
'Business as usual.'
'It's never personal.' Green stepped closer, his breath smelled of freshly mowed grass. 'I heard you wanted to parlay.'
'I'm getting out of the game.'
'Just like that?'
'Just like that.'
'Mm-hmm.' Green took a moment to mull over things.
Luther wanted to read the man's eyes but only saw his own image darkly reflected in the shades. Green's thoughts, like so many of the deepest players, were ever his own.
'I'm looking to tie up a few loose ends before I move on.'
'You really think that's how it ends for soldiers like us? That we get the wife, the kids, the white picket fence and the happily ever after? You don't get to just walk away. You get till you get got. Blood simple.'
'That so?' The weight of his Caliburns pressed against him, begging to be used. He desperately wanted to end this farce and draw down on Green.
'You drawing on me violates the parlay,' Green said, though unafraid, as if reading his thoughts. 'A man is only as good as his word.'
'I have a simple proposal. I turn the pea shakes over to you for a taste. Ten per cent off the top, consider that my pension.'
'That'd all been fine except for one thing.'
'What's that?' Luther asked.
'There are always consequences to our choices and the friends we choose to make.'
'We're still at parlay.'
'I know that. But I can't help things if a man can't control his own troops.'
The shot ripped through Luther's side like a molten thrust of a blade. He spun, drawing a Caliburn in the same balletic movement. CashMoney stood there, gun in hand. Luther squeezed the trigger, with only a resounding click in response. Unsure of what to expect, CashMoney flinched at first but with the click, returned a knowing grin. Luther scuttled to the side, but CashMoney fired off a quick three shots, the first two hitting him in the chest, the third going astray.
It caught Green in the arm.
CashMoney's face blanched in response, lowering the gun immediately.
'Oh shit, Green, I-'
'Chill, little man,' Green said. His flesh began to re-knit itself, thin vines extending out as if covering a house then assuming the appearance of flesh. 'No harm done, but you owe me for the cost of fixing my coat.'
'You still staking me?'
'Done.' Green reached into his Caddy and tossed CashMoney a small duffle bag. He inspected the contents, finding the cash and product to his liking. 'Welcome to the game.'
Morgana watched the street pantomime of police and ambulance lights while people scampered back and forth in vain, attending to the fallen king. As promised, CashMoney retrieved her gifts before anyone arrived on the scene. Opening her keepsake chest, she placed in it the twin Caliburns, joining the bullets she had removed from them. Such a disgraceful and ignoble death for a king.
She patted her belly with the knowing of an expectant mother.
Long live the king.
