'I'm no thief.'
'What are you looking for?'
'A cup. It used to belong to a friend of mine. It had a… ring inside.'
'So now you calling me a thief?'
'No,' Percy said unblinking and unafraid. 'I thought… I was told it might be here.'
'Who told you that?'
'Another friend.'
'Your friend tells stories,' Black said.
'Yeah. He does that sometimes.'
'Why you want it back so bad? It valuable?'
'I don't know. I was told it could help a friend. He's sick.'
'What's the matter with him?'
'He was shot and now won't wake up.'
Calculations filled Black's eyes and he tugged at his glove. 'You a friend of King's?'
'Yeah.'
'That motherfucker needs to burn. Along with any motherfucker that stands with him.' Black removed his glove and held it in front of his face, both admiring and loathing it. He glared at Percy, his anger prematurely exposed. Not solely anger, but despair. A huge void, the sheer immensity of the pain and loss, threatened to devour him where he stood if he didn't constantly tend to it. Which also fueled his anger.
'Why?' Percy didn't move. The way the man held his hand out, he was afraid threat underscored the gesture.
'Because of what happened to my sister.'
'Lyonessa.'
'Yeah. Someone's got to pay.' Black reached out to him.
'She was pretty.' The tiny voice stopped them in their tracks.
Percy turned. Had stepped out from behind him and met Black's gaze.
'She was pretty.' Had stared straight ahead, not really focused on Black. His shoulders stiff, as if warding back a shiver. 'And nice. She played with me.'
Black peered down at the round-faced boy, oddly captivated by his sweet face. There was an innocence, a purity, about him which reminded him of his sister. He lowered his arm. Had approached him. Then, before Black could react, Had took his hand.
Black cried out, his voice choked and grievous, more in fear for the boy than any pain himself. But he stared at him. No burning. No raised flesh.
'I don't understand.' Black tried backing away from Had, but the boy kept pace with him, not releasing his hand. Black fell back into his seat. Had stood next to him, still holding his hand. A tear trailed down his face.
'She was pretty,' he said as if letting the memory of her wash over him. Not just the memory of her, but the pain of her absence, the tragedy of her death. The guilt of Black's life. All of it, the pain and hurt of Black. All of it.
Had nodded at Percy as if shooing him along. Percy backed away from them, again with the overwhelming sensation that he was intruding on something personal. Something sacred. He fumbled for the knob of the other door, which gave way without complaint in his grasp.
Another set of stairs greeted him. A tight spiral of steps which seemed to go up quite a ways. Percy almost got dizzy simply from the view up. He took the first one, testing it to see if it or the delicate frame could take his weight. Then the next. The structure didn't buckle or sway. Rather than risk vertigo staring to see how far he had left or down to check how far he'd gone, Percy kept his eye simply on the next step.
Time became meaningless to him. He knew he ascended a tower. He kept climbing, pausing every so often to rest. Sweat soaked through his red shirt, giving it the appearance of a blood-drenched rag. Finally he came to a landing and collapsed in a heap.
'It's such a waste,' a clown said. Her face, white with paint grease, had a scar dividing the side of her face. When she closed her eyes, her lids completed the image of a cross over each eye. When she moved, she glided about the floor with the swivel-hipped body language of a dancer.
'It's all such a waste.'
Percy scrambled to his feet, steadying himself on the banister. The room had a sacredness to it. A quiet retreat hidden from the rest of the world. And she was beautiful. A princess.
'What is?' Percy asked.
'The fighting. The killing.'
'It makes me sad, too.'
'You've come for the cup,' La Payasa said.
'Yeah.'
'Is it yours?'
'No.'
'Then why should I give it to you?'
'It's important,' Percy said.
'Why?'
'It can help my friend.'
'King.' Her eyes fixed on him as if gazing into the innermost parts of his soul. 'Is that the only reason?'
'Yeah.' Percy ran out of words. He didn't know what else to say, how else to plead his case. Words tumbled out of his mouth. 'The cup had a ring in it…'
'Go on.'
'A long time ago, my mom…' Percy hesitated. The memory and words came hard to Percy. But he spoke of his mother and her long losing battle with drugs. How she tried to be a mother in her own way. And he tried to be an obedient son, despite her trying to school him in things he knew were wrong. Which was how he ended up breaking into Rhianna's room one night and almost stealing that ring. Instead, moved by how pretty she was, he put the ring back. But it always hurt his heart how close he came to betraying her. Which was why he believed he owed it to her to find the ring.
'You are a great fool,' La Payasa said in a soft, soothing voice. She pulled a ring from her left hand and placed it in his palm. Then curled his fingers around it. 'I don't know if any of the people around you deserve you.'
'Why are you here?' Percy asked.
'In this house?'
'With him.'
'Oh, Black. Growing up. The police raided our house three, four times a year. They'd gather the children in a room, all of us terrified, not knowing what was going on. The police were supposed to be our friend. We were supposed to trust them. They were supposed to protect us. They were supposed to lock up bad people. Yet here they were, herding us about like cattle, all of them glaring down their noses at us, with that expression on their faces like we shouldn't be there. They reduced the house to a mess. I never learned to trust them. Handcuffing all of the adults, lining them up on the curb like they were on sale. And most times, the police would leave with nothing. Sometimes they'd take my father in, but he'd be back within a few hours. It was like some game he and the police played. With us caught up in it. Me? I hated the invasion. I hated the police. And I hated my father.'
'I never knew my father. Met him once, I think.'
'Mine never protected me. I never had my own bed. Always a bunch of us crammed into a room. Into a bed. Me and my cousins. We slept on opposite ends of the same bed. His crusty feet jammed into my face.'
Percy smiled. It reminded him of home with his brothers and sisters. But the smile faded with the pursed lips of La Payasa and the sadness they held back.
'Every night for a year, he touched me,' she said. 'Touched me in private places.'
Percy reflected on uncomfortable moments with his mother.
'There was never any…'
Percy shifted noisily.
'Only touching.'
'So that's why you're here?' Percy asked, still confused.
