want to scare her off so he decided to wait until the time was right.'
'Boys are so silly. He shouldn've asked her out then. He don't know she'll be around later. She might be too busy for him.'
'Girl, you're gonna be fierce one day.'
'That good?'
'That's great. You'll be a princess who won't need saving.'
'So did he ask her out?'
'The king had his duty to attend to. One day a terrible dragon entered the kingdom. It scared the king's people, devouring them slowly, and seemed to be everywhere at once. It wasn't too long till people began falling under the dragon's power and fighting alongside the beast against their own people. Now it was the king's duty to battle the dragon. Everywhere the dragon went the king was there to fight it.'
'Did he kill the dragon?'
'The dragon was so huge and so powerful, but the king didn't realize he couldn't fight it alone. So he continued to fight the power of the dragon.'
'The king was brave.'
'Or stupid. Or too proud. Or all of the above. One day the beautiful lady got caught up in their battle. The dragon kidnapped her and held her captive. The king grew even more relentless and chased the dragon to the ends of his kingdom. There was no place it could hide from him. Finally, fearing the king's wrath, the dragon released the lady and went into hiding.'
'Was she the one?'
'He thought she was. He was prepared to make a life with her, offer her his kingdom or even set it aside for her… but then another took her away. The king was alone again.'
'That's not true. The king still had his people. And maybe there will be another queen.'
'I think the king realized he already had a princess he needed to take better care of. Keep her safe from his many enemies.'
'That why the king doesn't come around very often?'
'To keep her safe. He should probably go.'
'I'd rather not be safe.'
'What do you mean?'
'If it means I'd get to see you more, I'd rather not be safe.'
King leaned in and kissed her forehead. He never wanted to be that kind of a father. Absent. The kind who put his work, no matter how important he thought it, above his family. And now the choice had been taken from him. He'd made too many enemies in the game. Families, not even little girls, were no longer off limits. He needed to put an end to the foolishness and get out. Maybe start over. That was what he wanted most: the chance to do things over again. Make different decisions. Maybe choose different people to surround himself with.
King walked toward the rear of the Breton Court condominiums. In the gloom of night, the overgrown branches stretched like tentacles ready to snatch him away, and the sad stretch of creek was reduced to a trickle as it hadn't rained in a while. He stopped at the bridge along High School Road, the site of his betrayal. Closing his eyes, letting the pain of the memory of seeing Lott and Lady G together stab him anew. No matter how much he wished it, the darkness wouldn't swallow him. No all-consuming shadow reached out to snatch him into its ebon haze. Only the oppressive weight of anguish — the squeezing on his chest, his very being — reminded him that he was still alive. Memories replayed in his head. What didn't he see? The way they sat near. The furtive glances. Lott even sat in between King and Lady G on occasion and no one thought twice because they were all friends. Family. When did it start? What did he do wrong? Questions he never thought to ask. And why should he have? Lott was his ace. Lady G was his girl. He trusted them with his life. He wished he'd never seen the Caliburn at all.
His condo faced Big Momma's and he didn't want to chance seeing or being seen by Lady G. He simply wasn't ready. The image of her haunted him. He thought he saw her everywhere he went, in crowds, at coffeeshops, passing him on the sidewalk. The ghost of her lingered everywhere. So he had taken to entering and leaving his place through the rear.
A cement block pressed the back patio door shut; the trick was letting it fall into place when he left (though many times he simply scaled the walls). Either way, it was a lot of effort for 'security' as all anyone had to do was push the door open.
Like Pastor Ecktor Winburn had done.
'What are you doing here?'
'A good shepherd goes after his lost sheep.' A low-cut Afro with gray streaks drew back from his forehead, lengthening the appearance of his face. Like a scarecrow funeral director, his black suit hung from him, his tie too thin. He hunched his shoulders close and bridged his spider-like long fingers, his suspicious eyes taking the measure of King. 'Figured I'd given you enough time to lick your wounds in your cave.'
'I didn't ask you to come.' The words came out in an angry rush. King balled his fist and released it, then pushed past Pastor Winburn to the unlocked backdoor. There was a time when he'd hung on the man's every word, but these days King could barely stand to listen to him. Somewhere along the lines things had changed, like somehow the pastor should have been there for him, been more solidly in his corner. Instead he felt like he'd washed his hands of him, distancing himself ('giving you time to lick your wounds' crap), and now doing just enough to cover his ass for when folks asked him about King.
'I'm here now.' Pastor Winburn followed him inside. Better to give him something, any distraction to keep him from exploring any further down this dark path. Sometimes the best way to get over a problem was to get involved in someone else's. To take his eyes off of himself and his tiny corner of the world. 'And you've still got a job to do. We're losing our men to the streets. To drugs. Hell, to their couches. There's nothing like comfort to make folks feel like they can get through life on their own. But no matter how good they have it, they're never content. Start getting that itch and feeling the need to scratch it. Wherever and with whomever they can.'
'I been thinking a lot about my father.' King reached to pull the Caliburn from his hip, his reflex ritual upon returning home. After all this time, he still forgot that he no longer had it.
'Yeah?'
'Wondering if we're all meant to be our fathers' sons.'
Heavy, intense eyes rested on him. People loved putting folks on pedestals almost as much as they loved knocking them back down to earth. Hollywood stars. Pastors. Parents. Life was a set-up game which you couldn't let go to your head. 'You know what I've always thought? The story of the prodigal son could have easily been called the prodigal father, at least to the son that stayed faithful.'
'What do you mean?'
'Here you have two sons. One is faithful to his father, being the best son he can be. The other is selfish, self- focused, out for himself and his own good time. The faithful son stays with his father, continues his work, while the prodigal goes his own way and squanders his life. The faithful son sees his father bend over backwards to reward the wayward son. It can be a tough thing to swallow, seeing your father behave in ways you don't understand, yet love him anyway. Luckily for them both, they were still around to talk things through.'
'My dad's no longer here.'
'You are a hurt and angry child.'
'What did you say to me?' King hated this. He wanted to punch something. Someone. And Pastor Winburn… he hated the man to see him like this. So weak. Pathetic. He wanted to prove himself to the man. To be the man Pastor Winburn saw in him. To even be better than him. Such was the way of fathers and sons.
'You were a… knight. A hero. Now you acting like some simp who's been played by a girl.'
'You have no idea what it's like to think you know someone, to love them, and realize it's nothing but lies.'
'Nope. Because love is strictly the provenance of the young. I was never young, never hooked up with anyone, and never got hurt by anyone. You're the only one who has ever been through something like this. In the history of mankind.'
'You're not helping.' King's face remained inscrutable. He kept his face a pallid mask, unmoved even by his own pain.
'It's all right to be angry with Lott. Lady G. Both of them. This whole situation. It sucks.'
'I should be beyond that.'