talking?'
'It's part of the game.'
'Games? I like games.' Merle smacked loudly as if enjoying a piece of candy.
'It's like playing chess.'
'I've never been real good at chess,' Merle said. 'But it sounds like you'd be great at it. Thinking so far ahead. An enemy you can read.'
Dred ushered him into the anteroom. A chess board occupied the center of the room, exquisitely carved jade pieces all over it, a game already in progress. Dred took a seat. He gestured for Merle to sit across from him but the mage remained standing.
'In chess, you have pieces. Cold, porcelain pieces are useless. I need to be able to read the guy behind the pawns. I don't know if that makes sense. It does to me and that's all that counts.'
'You study the player, not his game.'
'Try to get in his head. Fuck with him a little. Get him talking about anything, then his language and body movements will betray him. How quickly he moves his piece. How tightly he grips it. How firmly he places it. You watch his face and body. It all telegraphs his thinking and strategy. His motivations.'
'His tells.'
'Every word, every phrase. It's all about nuance. It's all about learning how to read people.'
'So which am I? Pawn or guy behind the pawns?' Merle asked.
'Both… I suspect.' Which was as true as Dred could guess. There was always someone between Merle and the drama. No direct contact, always directing others. He hadn't quite decided if Merle moved King or if both were subject to a greater gamesman making them fulfill their roles. Either way, his moves had to be accounted for. Dred moved a knight to take out a pawn and place his opponent's rook in jeopardy. He then spun the table to play as his opponent.
'You have your mother's eyes.'
'Do you know where she is, world mage?'
'She's nearby. Closer than either of us care to admit.'
'I need to see her. She has one last lesson for me.'
'She'll be the death of both of us,' Merle said, taking greater interest in the game.
'I don't think so. I think her time draws to an end.'
'But that's not what you summoned me here for.'
'No. I need to know if King is the man you think he is.'
'The sapling mage is at a crossroads? Neither this way nor that?'
'Something like that. I hear things. Rumors about what King hopes to do and achieve. And I want to believe in it. In him.'
'He's just a man. A dream.'
'I believe that, though I don't know if you do.' Even as Dred rethought the game, his strategy, and his position, he never revealed his entire hand. Through the last of the dragon's breath, he had poked and prodded, testing his opponents and teasing out their weakness. He could already tell that they were on edge, not as sharp. Exhausted and harried… and thus vulnerable.
'You also have doubts.'
'I just need to know what's this nigga's story.'
'You know it as well as anybody.'
'I mean, what's he about?'
'He's the story.'
'He's a story. The echo of a story. Young, charismatic, do-gooder types. Social organizer, community activist type. Troubled youth made good, with a rise to prominence backed by a religious leader.'
'You make that sound like a bad thing.'
'You know your Bible?'
'We haven't always seen eye-to-eye.'
'Revelation 17:11 — 'And the beast that was, and is not, even he is the eighth, and is of the seven, and goeth into perdition.' Daniel 8:23 — 'And in the latter time of their kingdom, when the transgressors are come to the full, a king of fierce countenance, and understanding dark sentences, shall stand up.' Daniel 11:36 — 'And the king shall do according to his will; and he shall exalt himself, and magnify himself above every god, and shall speak marvelous things against the God of gods, and shall prosper till the indignation be accomplished: for that that is determined shall be done.''
'What are you trying to say?'
'I'm not trying to say anything. It's already been said. Even foretold.'
'If you think King is some sort of… Antichrist, then this would be one of those non eye-to-eye moments.'
'I think King is an echo of the past that points to the future. He may mean well, but he doesn't see how his actions can hurt people.
'Says the drug lord.'
'I'm a simple businessman. No further ambition than to make money. What I do, hundreds of others do. But King, he's special isn't he?'
Merle remained silent.
'King has potential,' Dred said. 'He draws people in, sweeps them along despite themselves, like a tidal vortex. It's what he does. Unites people, forges a kingdom, accrues power. Until…'
'Until what?'
'Until it all falls apart. Tell me, is he the real deal? Is he a man worth following?'
'You are your mother's son.'
Dred toppled the jade king. 'Tell King I want to meet with him.'
'A parlay?'
'If anyone can pull together a parlay, I'm sure it's him.'
The summit meeting was the business portion of what was Rellik's homecoming party. Off to college, off to life in the military, out from prison, such rites of passage were met with community celebration. Rellik was a west side nigga at heart, but he was equally at home at the Meadows, now the Phoenix, Apartments. This wasn't some alien landscape meant to be avoided or sped through with locked car doors. This was home. Under electric-blue skies with the hint of chill in the air, but still warm enough to have a party.
Sparing no expense, a row of three tables held a snow cone maker, a popcorn maker, as well as room for hot dog and nachos stations (which proved especially convenient for those wanting chili and cheese on their dogs instead of chips). Another table held coolers filled with juice drinks and pop. For anything harder, they needed to go to their car trunks and make their own drinks. On the far side of the church lot were three inflatable gyms. One for basketball, a jumpy slide which tottered precariously in the breeze though none of the kids cared, and a boxing ring with inflatable gloves the size of a toddler. Boys ran up on one another at full tilt with faux menace, amped up to pummel one another with the gloves which proved heavier than they anticipated.
The DJ had to be snatched by Big Momma as the mic had to be protected from the errant freestylers. As it was, the music spun featured lyrics quickly running out of superheroes to do things with their hos. Pastor Winburn bobbed his head. 'The neck knows,' he said to Big Momma's mildly disapproving gaze and the giggle of some of the pre-teens.
Three BBQ grills kept the meat coming. Geno wiped thick smears of sweat from his forehead with his apron. He manned the racks of ribs personally, not trusting anyone else's eye. He had a burger man and a chicken man, each flipping stacks of meat like a wellrehearsed orchestra.
An area of tables had been cordoned off, the tablecloths flapping in the wind, but held down by duct tape. Chairs allowed the grown folks to eat in peace, hold court, or play cards and dominoes. Having run out of those, some of the kids had to make do with milk cartons. Seven year-old boys flashed gang signs when out of the eyeline of any other adults.
On the other side of the church, The Boars and other young men crouched in the shadows hunched over their piles of cash. He shook a set of dice, eyes heavy on him, all still conscious of the beat-down he took, but now it was business as usual and none dared speak of it. They gave him room to lick the wounds to his pride and they feared his eruption to reclaim it if provoked. Money spread on the concrete. The Boars rolled the bones and snapped his
