Brothers in Blood: For the Children

Whatcha Messin' Wid?

Jack looked out the window, watching the two hooded figures across the street. They had been there for at least an hour, watching the little kids playing in the yard. He glanced at the sniper rifle that hung above his desk and shook his head. It shouldn‘t ever come to that. he would have to talk to them. Mista D was downstairs, talking with some of the older kids, chatting about what they were going to do with their lives after school was done. Jack shut the door and stepped onto the front steps. There was a truck coming down the road, a big black truck. It stopped in front of the driveway and pulled in. Then the passenger window exploded inwards.
Jack watched as Mac slammed the truck into reverse and peeled out of the drive. he stopped inches from the two hoods, one still holding the pellet gun. His arm came through the window and grabbed the kid’s sweatshirt and dragged him into the cab over the broken glass. Jack ran over when he saw the truck bouncing and heard something slamming against the dash board. The other hood ran off when he saw Jack. The passenger door opened and the kid came flying out, his face pale and a hand-shaped red mark on his face. The gun he had used hit him in the chest and knocked him down. It was completely destroyed.
Mac was sitting there, his arms folded across his chest, his lips pursed, snorting softly. he rolled down the window. “Gonna be a fun time, won’t it Jack?” Jack leaned against the side of the truck and looked down the street after the running boys. “This is bull, man, complete bull.” He popped the truck out of park and drove into the driveway again. Mista D was standing at the front door, just observing. The kids were awestruck, the smallest ones staring at Mac as he unfolded from the truck. “Not a good day,” he said quietly. “Hi there Kids, I’m Mister Mac, but you can just call me Mac if you want.” Their eyes were as big as his hub caps. He turned and went inside. Jack gestured for the kids to go back to whatever they were doing.
Mac was leaning on the counter in the kitchen, laughing about something Mista D had told him. When Jack came in, the laughter died and his eyes went solemn. “Guess who I saw this morning.”
“General Patton?”
“Osama Bin Laden?”
“Chief Crazy Horse?”
“Tupac?”
“The reverend Vince Borkowski.”
“You not serious. Jokin’ bout that juss ain’t right, brotha Mac.”
“Know it ain’t funny, that’s why I’m completely serious. My pastor decided to have an ‘acquaintance’ preach for him this morning, and Vince walked up like he didn’t do nothing wrong all them years ago.”
“So what happened?”
“he saw me and changed his tune real damn fast. Got all teary eyed, honestly, and told the church the whole story. Wanted to leave the second I heard his name and saw him walk up there, but God wouldn’t let me. Vince saw me and kind of collapsed in on himself. Started talking about what happened, the Split and what happened afterwards. Got a tape of it right here.” He pulled a white cassette out of his pocket. They listened, reflecting on what they heard. When the tape got real quiet, and all they could here was breathing, Mac stopped it.
“What happened there, Mac?”
Mac looked out the window. “Forgave him, Jack. Walked to the front and forgave the bastard. Didn’t want to, but I needed to. The big guy in the sky hits hard man, but I sure as Hell wasn’t expecting that to happen. Thought those guys were long dead.” They sat like flesh-covered statues, each one absorbed in his own memories and how he would have reacted to Borkowski’s appearance.
“Got to start heading some of the kids to bed.” Jack stood up and left the kitchen, something strange written on his face that the others couldn’t place. He came back with three kids clinging to him and a small black girl huddled in his arms. he smiled at her and led them all upstairs.
“Natanya,” he said, “This is you’re bed, you’ll be safe here tonight. You got me in the next room if you need anything, and Mister Mac and Mister D are here too, okay?” She nodded, her tight braids bouncing. her eyes were deep pools of fear. The man living at her house was an abusive drunk and her mother was one of his crack whores. Natanya stayed with Jack whenever she could, and her mother never knew. Jack had gone to the house once, when Natanya first started coming to the house.
he knocked on the door, her little hand holding tight to his. It took forever for the door to open, revealing an obscenely obese man in blue shorts and a doo-rag. Jack smelt beer and marijuana on his breath, mingled with extreme body odor. The fat man looked at the girl and called something unintelligible over his shoulder. Her mother appeared and squeezed past him.
“What do you want?” her eyes flashed annoyance at the interruption. “Did that little witch steal something and now I have to pay for it? Well, she can go fry, she’s enough trouble already without-”
Jack put his hand up. “ma’am, Natanya asked me if it was okay if she stayed over with some friends tonight. i told her we’d have to ask you. That’s all, no trouble.”
“Take the brat, keep her for all I give a care, she’s just gonna end up like me someday, so whatever.” She turned on her heal and went back in the house. The fat man, whose high had apparently just risen, gazed at them, giggling uncontrollably. Then he slammed the door.
Jack shut the door, anger burning his eyes. So little regard for children, their own flesh and blood. He checked the other rooms, making sure all the kids were in their respective beds. They trusted him, and he trusted them not to do anything they knew he wouldn’t like. He started back down the stairs. he stopped when he saw Mac and Mista D crouched by the door, their ears to the wall. Mac had a hard rubber bat in his hand. Mista D reached for the knob and jerked the door open.
Outside, three men wearing gang colors were walking up the steps. Mac exploded out of the house and swung his bat, breaking one’s wrist, making him drop his gun. His friends reached for theirs. They ended up on the ground, red painful streaks across their faces. Mista D stood over them when Mac was done. he looked down at them as they held their heads and begged for them not to hurt them anymore. Jack stood in the doorway and watched. he ducked back inside.
D kicked their guns into the light behind them. he looked so much bigger, silhouetted above them. They looked up at him, men barely in their twenties, too scared to move. They had never been subdued that fast, most of their experience had been with people who didn’t fight back. True conflict was something that was beyond them.
You foos lookin’ for somethin’?” Mista D picked up one, he was wearing a ball-cap sideways. “You thinkin’ you ‘bust a cap in dat wigga’s ass’? He busted up one o’ yo brothas, huh? he keepin’ da little kiddies from buyin’ yo MJ and yo crack? He stoppin’ yo business?” he threw the kid away like a rag doll. “Well, ‘at boy ain’t alone now, he’s got brothas more loyal than any o yo gangbangin’ pothead gangstas.” he grabbed the one with the broken wrist. “Think youse a tough guy? Den why is you comin’ to a house wid little kids wid guns? ‘Ats low, lower than a freakin’ child molester. Gonna pop Jack then sell the kids or pop them too, cuz they won’t play your game? You make me sick.”
Jack came out with his shotgun. “D, you done yet?”
Mista D shook his head and dropped the boy. he jerked the last one to his feet, his nose bloody and smashed to one side. “Think you got street cred just cuz you dress like a slob and rob the system like a leach? Sellin’ drugs and listenin’ to Fiddy Cent and all them other crack rappers don’t make you a man, anymore than sleepin’ around does. Callin’ yo friend nigga ain’t no respectin nobody, its a diss on yo people, yo history. The world don’t owe you nothin’ you ain’t earned. And all yo boys earnin is a jail cell wid Big Bubba.”
“Now get the hell away from here, before I blow you across the grass.” Jack pumped the gun and raised it to his shoulder. The three gang members took off running as fast as they could, tripping over their baggy sweat pants. Jack waited until they disappeared before he disarmed the gun and walked back into the house. Mac looked up and saw little faces peaking out through the curtains watching. He shook his head and followed Mista D inside.
The next morning, a teenager was knocking on the door. Jack was awake, making coffee, and he answered the door. The kid looked at him, checked the picture in his hand. “Can I help you?” The kid looked up. “Yeah, I’m looking for Kevin McNaughton, I’m with... I’m looking for him, got something to ask him.” Jack looked the kid up and down. He had a good frame, his head was shaved, probably a skinhead. A small black line could be seen, reaching up from under his shirt. Jack guessed it was a swastika tattoo.
he sent one of the kids who was wandering around to go wake Mac up. When Mac came down, his eyes widened. “You from the Klan?”
The kid looked both ways, then leaned in close. “Kevin, we heard about the stuff you got going on, and want to help.” Mac grabbed the kid’s arm and pulled him inside. Jack shut the door and looked at Mac, completely confused. “You guys are trying to help preserve the future, right? Save kids and that stuff. There’s a group of us, we defected from the KKK because we realized that it isn’t all blacks who’re bringing down the world, its a select few. Seeing as you used to be a member, McNaughton, we assumed you could use our help in this fight for righteousness.”
Jack was in complete shock. he had never known Mac had been a member of the Ku Klux Klan, nothing had ever hinted to it at all. Mac saw the look on Jack’s face and clarified. “Yeah, Jack, I was part of the KKK, and I led the defection after I got back from the War. D was a huge part of me changing my mind about race issues.” He looked at the kid. “What’s your name, how many boys you got, and what you think your gonna get out of this?”
“Isaiah Forrester. They call me Zay, you can to if you want. We got fifty within an hour of here, two hundred more that could be here in a day.”
Jack cut in. “And what do you want for helping us?” he didn’t like the idea of being linked with the Klan, even if these were defectors. It could cause some unwanted complications.
Zay looked him over. “We don’t want nothing, except a better future for the kids here and coming up. No recognition, no names in the paper, no money, drugs, sex, nothing. just a better place for the future.”
“Honest. Say it right, no loopholes.”
“We don’t want anything but a better future for the kids, all races. That better?”
Mac nodded. “Give your boys a call and we’ll meet on the basketball court early tomorrow morning.” Zay nodded and left through the side door. Then Mac looked over at his friend, studying his face. he had known Jack too long to not recognize the hesitation in his eyes. “What’s up, brother?”
Jack leaned against the cabinets, making them squeak softly. he looked at the floor, gazing like he could see something beyond it. “It’s the KKK, Mac. Not like its PETA or the NAACP, or something socially acceptable like that, its the Klu Klux Klan, the most hated and feared, white supremacy group in the United States. And now they want to join up with us to fight gangsters, for the future?” The door opened and Mista D came in, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “And what about D? How’s he gonna react to this?”
D reached for the coffee maker. “You boys wanna tell m’ somethin’ ‘bout ‘at skinhead youse had in heya dis mornin’?”
The two men looked at him. “You know?”
“be kind of retarded if i don’t. Called up some friends night fore last and asked ‘bout some backup, big numbers. He mentioned Zay’s name, gave me ‘is email. Say they all part o’ some defection from da Klan, made blacks and whites, all fighting fo’ da protection and honor of women and children, all races, dropped the racist bull and took up a mudslung standard. Mac, you neva told me ‘bout you startin’ ‘at. Rachel know?” Mac shook his head and folded his arms.
“D, you freakin amaze me sometimes.” Jack looked out the window, Zay was still walking down the street, moving slow, talking on a cell phone. Crazy, a black guy calling in former white supremacists to fight alongside. “Mac, you better have some kind of plan set out when those boys get here tomorrow. I’m calling the Tribe, hopefully they’ll be able to come too. Gotta have some blooded fighters, huh?”