Read Online King Maker: The Knights of Breton Court, Volume 1 by Maurice Broaddus - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Maurice Broaddus
Tags: Fiction, General, Fantasy, Crime, African American, gangs, Urban Life, Street Life, Drug Dealers
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a desperately clung-to innocence or the measure of something salvageable or maybe he simply saw a bit of himself in the boy – that made him keep trying. All Parker needed was to sink his hooks into the straight life and not be tripped up by the lures of short cuts and the promise of easy cash.
Every war demanded an enemy and in this war the enemy came in the form of Junie Walker. As Wayne approached, Junie smiled stupidly, high on whatever he'd managed to get a hold of that morning. The skin of his face stretched tight over his skull. Wayne took the measure of the man in one meeting. A would-be soldier not nearly as competent as he aspired to be. If Wayne could spot that Junie was losing his own battle with the needle, surely Junie's employers had to know that he was a catastrophic fuck-up waiting to happen.
Parker led Wayne down the alleyway, the path suffering from the erosion of green as grass sprouted in the many cracks of the sidewalk. Bushes – more branches than leaves, brown and long unpruned – overtook fences. A gap-toothed grin of missing slats, the remaining posts of the wood fence were either broken or spray-painted with the latest gang tags. ESG. Treize. The letters ICU within a circle. MerkyWater. Non-stop traffic ground along the road, dogs marked their trespass in harsh barks, and air-conditioning units barreled along like over-worked engines. Wayne stalked the too-familiar scene as if he were home.
"He's in there." Parker stopped short and pointed to a trash can.
"He?" Wayne asked, still studying Parker. He was troubled, though neither Parker nor Junie set off any survival alarms. However, Parker's posture bothered him. The careless shrug of his shoulder. The faux deference to Wayne. No, there was something calculated about this performance.
"The dead dude."
Wayne pulled the lid free from the bin. Arms and legs sprouted up, a potted plant of limbs. He jumped back, holding the lid as a shield. Inching forward again, as if at any moment the limbs might snare him, Wayne risked peering into the garbage can again. A naked black man was folded into the container. His head cocked at an unnatural angle, a small entry wound dotted his forehead. Bruised purple with a burned black rim, a small-caliber gun had done its work close up. Wayne couldn't help but note that his knees were ashy. Funny the things the mind chose to lock on to. A hard heart had to have walked up on this man whether he was in the life or not and ended him. Wayne searched Parker's eyes, but no longer saw any hope in them. Only a deadened hardness.
"The police are going to have some questions," Wayne said, not knowing what to do with the lid. He needed to make some phone calls, yet he didn't feel right covering the man like he was inconvenient trash. Nor leaving him exposed to all passers-by.
"You got my back though, right?" Parker asked.
"As long as you didn't have anything to do with this." Wayne continued to stare into the trashcan.
"Cool."
Junie skulked off, fading into the background of the alley, a rat scavenging for food in a dumpster then scuttling for cover when exposed. Suspicions aside, Wayne wouldn't give him up. To be known as a snitch would cost him the trust of all the kids he worked with. Every day he'd wonder if it'd be worth it if only to rid the world of a Junie or two.
Tying them up for hours, the police had plenty of questions for both Wayne and Parker. They had more questions, more for Parker especially, but were satisfied enough to let them go. Wayne had time to make the afternoon drop at Outreach Inc., a ministry for homeless and at-risk teenagers, so he swung by his house to get Kay. On the television – which he'd left on so that Kay wouldn't get lonely – the news reported that on the other side of town, six year-old Conant Walker had been shot while standing in front of his kitchen window. The day just kept getting better and better. He pushed past the crowd
Every war demanded an enemy and in this war the enemy came in the form of Junie Walker. As Wayne approached, Junie smiled stupidly, high on whatever he'd managed to get a hold of that morning. The skin of his face stretched tight over his skull. Wayne took the measure of the man in one meeting. A would-be soldier not nearly as competent as he aspired to be. If Wayne could spot that Junie was losing his own battle with the needle, surely Junie's employers had to know that he was a catastrophic fuck-up waiting to happen.
Parker led Wayne down the alleyway, the path suffering from the erosion of green as grass sprouted in the many cracks of the sidewalk. Bushes – more branches than leaves, brown and long unpruned – overtook fences. A gap-toothed grin of missing slats, the remaining posts of the wood fence were either broken or spray-painted with the latest gang tags. ESG. Treize. The letters ICU within a circle. MerkyWater. Non-stop traffic ground along the road, dogs marked their trespass in harsh barks, and air-conditioning units barreled along like over-worked engines. Wayne stalked the too-familiar scene as if he were home.
"He's in there." Parker stopped short and pointed to a trash can.
"He?" Wayne asked, still studying Parker. He was troubled, though neither Parker nor Junie set off any survival alarms. However, Parker's posture bothered him. The careless shrug of his shoulder. The faux deference to Wayne. No, there was something calculated about this performance.
"The dead dude."
Wayne pulled the lid free from the bin. Arms and legs sprouted up, a potted plant of limbs. He jumped back, holding the lid as a shield. Inching forward again, as if at any moment the limbs might snare him, Wayne risked peering into the garbage can again. A naked black man was folded into the container. His head cocked at an unnatural angle, a small entry wound dotted his forehead. Bruised purple with a burned black rim, a small-caliber gun had done its work close up. Wayne couldn't help but note that his knees were ashy. Funny the things the mind chose to lock on to. A hard heart had to have walked up on this man whether he was in the life or not and ended him. Wayne searched Parker's eyes, but no longer saw any hope in them. Only a deadened hardness.
"The police are going to have some questions," Wayne said, not knowing what to do with the lid. He needed to make some phone calls, yet he didn't feel right covering the man like he was inconvenient trash. Nor leaving him exposed to all passers-by.
"You got my back though, right?" Parker asked.
"As long as you didn't have anything to do with this." Wayne continued to stare into the trashcan.
"Cool."
Junie skulked off, fading into the background of the alley, a rat scavenging for food in a dumpster then scuttling for cover when exposed. Suspicions aside, Wayne wouldn't give him up. To be known as a snitch would cost him the trust of all the kids he worked with. Every day he'd wonder if it'd be worth it if only to rid the world of a Junie or two.
Tying them up for hours, the police had plenty of questions for both Wayne and Parker. They had more questions, more for Parker especially, but were satisfied enough to let them go. Wayne had time to make the afternoon drop at Outreach Inc., a ministry for homeless and at-risk teenagers, so he swung by his house to get Kay. On the television – which he'd left on so that Kay wouldn't get lonely – the news reported that on the other side of town, six year-old Conant Walker had been shot while standing in front of his kitchen window. The day just kept getting better and better. He pushed past the crowd
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