Thursday, October 9, 2014

"Royce" Part 12

Click here for previous "Royce." 

"What is the deal with you and that Royce fella?" Van Housen asked Solomon. They were at a drive-thru waiting for their change. "Albany said that he beat you up when you were younger or something."

"What have I told you about talking to that fat fool without me around? You can't believe anything he says" Solomon said of Albany. "That monster Royce pulled a chunk out of my skull when we were children."

"What do you mean 'a chunk'?" Van Housen asked.

"What do you think I mean, jackass? He literally pulled my scalp off. My parents spent so much money on surgery afterwards. I never got to pay him back. He even killed my friend Tommy a few years after that. Idiot tried to kill Anne and got shot dead in the street. Get the change" he said to Van Housen.

"Thank you, sir. Come again soon" the cashier said.

"You know what I hate?" Van Housen said to the cashier. "In the fucking commercials it's always nice, polite, clean looking White kids working at this place. But in reality it's nothing but Mexicans, Niggers, and retards. Why is that?"

"That is a good question. Answer him, young lady" Solomon said.

"Do you want to speak to my manager?" she asked.

"No" Van Housen replied. "I am asking you honestly." A car honked behind him. "Fuck you, ass!" he shouted. "Why is it the commercials don't ever match reality?"

"I guess because what they show on the TV isn't real" she said. "Why is it that in the commercials the customers are always sweet, polite, and grateful for fast, good service when in reality they are racist, sexist, assholes that have nothing better to do with their day but harass people who want nothing to do but make an honest days pay?"

"Shut up" Van Housen said as he drove off. "Smart mouth bitch."

"She had a point" Solomon said.

"So you agree with her?" Van Housen asked. "You think all customers are assholes?"

"Pretty much. When I was younger my family had me get an actual job for the summer. I sold ice cream", Solomon said. Van Housen laughed. "Shut up, fool. You would think that people going to an ice cream shop would be happy. I mean, who eats ice cream in a bad mood?"

"eat it mad" Van Housen said.

"I assume you masturbate mad" Solomon relied. "As I was saying, people came there angry all the time. They were angry that their kids actually wanted sweets. There were mad that it was hot outside. Either way, I was the perfect target to vent their frustration out on. So, yes, I agree with the young woman. Customers are assholes."

"I'm gonna go back there later and shoot her in the face" Van Housen said.

"I've no doubt that you will" Solomon said. "But can you at least rob the joint while you're at it? If you're going to act out like a child I'd prefer if it made us money in the process."

"Sure. Do you want me to grab some food from there while I'm at it?" Van Housen asked sarcastically. "A apple pie? A shake maybe?"

"I swear sometimes I want to shake the shit out of you" Solomon said. "Don't forget to stop by Oberon's later to find out about that 'Streetsweeper.' I am very curious about it."

"Damn it!" Van Housen shouted while pounding the steering wheel. "I hate dealing with that silly Black bastard! As for the 'Streetsweeper', that thing is a myth. Like a guilt free Jew."

"Keep dancing on the mine field, House" Solomon said. "Just keep it up."


"I will fuck him up! I will hit him so hard his babies be born cockeyed! I ain't playin'! I don't have time for that sumbitch! Sumbody betta call my mama, man!" Oberon screamed while slapping his steering wheel.

"You sure like hearing yourself talk" Djinn said. "I don't understand why you hate him so much."

"Van Housen? You wanna know why I hate that racist muthafucka?! Genie, I know your ass ain't that ignin't!" Oberon screamed. "Nigga been fuckin' with me since he met me. Nigga don't know me. He don't know what I do."

"Why do you keep calling him racist?" Djinn asked.

"'Cause nigga is racist. He oozes racistosity!" Oberon replied.

"Is that a word?" Djinn asked.

"It is now" Oberon said.

"I think you're racist" Djinn muttered.

"Nigga, how I'm gon' be racist? I'm Black!" Oberon said.

"What does that mean? Are you saying that Black's cannot be racist?" Djinn asked. "That doesn't make much sense to me."

"Man, indoor plumbin' don't make sense to you! I bet you think TV is powered by the fuckin' Keebler elves of some shit. Nigga wanna see a 'Streetsweeper', I'll show him one" Oberon said. "I know that thing is fuckin' real. I don't need to prove it to him or any muthafucka."

"Have you ever actually seen it?" Djinn asked.

"Seen what?" Oberon said trying to avoid the question.

"The 'Streetsweeper.' Have you actually seen it in person?" Djinn repeated.

"Fuck you, too! It's fuckin' real. I saw the blueprints an' shit. That's proof enough for me. Why can't that make the rest of ya'll niggas happy?" Oberon complained. "Ain't nobody believe shit 'less it's on the Internet. Would you believe me if I found some shit on Youtube? Would that make you happy?"

"Yes. Yes, it would" Djinn said.

"I feel like a proctologist" Oberon sighed. "Like a nigga is just surrounded by assholes."

The truth is that no one has ever seen the "Streetsweeper." It was allegedly built by Russian militants. A weapon so powerful that it was deemed inhumane by all governing bodies involved in its creation. Though it was eventually banned from use a few made it to the black market. Out of the ten that found their way to the streets and into private hands, only one made it to America. Oberon had spoken of this weapon so much he started to believe his own lies regarding it.

"I would like to see this 'Streetsweeper'" Djinn said.

"Fuck you. You don't get to see shit. Always questioning me. You my partner, ain't you? Even if I'm lyin' you supposed to back me up!" Oberon said.

"That does not seem right" Djinn said.

"But killin' seventy somethin' niggas in the desert is?" Oberon said. Djinn whipped his head towards him. "Yeah, foo'. Albany told me all about that. Killin' all them people with your bare ass hands. That's some wild shit, man. But somethin' don't sit right with me about the whole thing."

"And what would that be?" Djinn hissed. His hand was slowly sliding towards the small blade in his pocket.

"Ain't it funny how Albany just happened to be there an' shit when you needed motivation? Like, nigga just appeared outta thin air and knew where to find the muthafuckas that killed your wife and shit." Oberon looked at Djinn and smiled. "One hellavuh coincidence, huh? I'm jus' sayin' is all..."

Djinn had thought about that many times. He had been in America under contract with Albany for almost eight years. He had made more money than he ever dreamed of having. But with no family, no friends, and losing faith in his God the longer he spent in the service of Albany, money meant nothing. He could not bring back his wife and infant child. He got his revenge physically but not spiritually.

Djinn knew that he was going to Hell when he finally died. His Hell would be a cage. A cage made of money that burned for all Eternity. His wife and child standing outside of the cage with their backs turned to him, too ashamed of what he became to look him in the eye. Many a night these visions made him wake up with a gun to his head, sweating, and tears rolling down his cheeks. The tears half dried already by the time was aware he had been crying.

"You know how old Albany is?" Oberon asked. "Fuckin' old. He is almost 90. When he dies he says he will turn this shit over to me."

"Did he really say that?" Djinn asked. He always assumed that the money would be donated to some love child somewhere. Maybe to his sister Anne in some kind of afterlife "Fuck you!" But Djinn never imagined Albany would turn it over to Oberon.

"Yeah, he says I get all this" Oberon said while his hand swept the city streets. "But I know a fuckin' pimp when I see one. That nigga ain't givin' me nothin' but a bullet in my ass and a flower on my grave."

"But you have worked for him almost twenty years. How could you think he would try to kill you?" Djinn wondered.

"Negro, please!" Oberon laughed. "Time don't mean shit to him. How long nigga know his brother an' sister? Eighty somethin' fuckin' years. Think about that for a minute."

Djinn sat looking out of his window silently. He had always suspected that one day Albany would send Oberon to kill him. He never imagined that while he was busy waiting for a bullet in his back Oberon was waiting for a knife in his.

"Why are you telling me this?" Djinn asked.

"Because, man. I wanna know whose side you on." Oberon slowed for a red light and came to a stop. "His. Or mine."

"There are no sides" Djinn replied.

"Whatchu mean?" Oberon asked.

"In Hell. There are no sides."

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