Street Soldiers Page 9

  “Nigel, Rah. What’s up?” the tatted brother behind the counter says. There are mirrors lining each of the four walls allowing spectators to see the process from various angles.

  Three local college girls watch as he puts a butterfly on the lower back of their friend, traditionally referred to as a “tramp stamp”. I think it’s cute but I can see how it got that name.

  “Nothing much, Julian,” Rah says, stepping into the shop ahead of us.

  There are pictures of tattoos lining the mirrored walls. No piercings or jewelry like in the other spots up and down the block—Julian’s Ink Spot is solely about tattoos.

  “This is our girl, Jayd.” Julian smiles my way and I return the gesture.

  Rah approaches the station to check the progress of Julian’s current client. Apparently they had an appointment. Rah hates when his time is wasted.

  “What are we working on today?” Julian asks, passing the girl in the chair a hand mirror. She looks at her reflection and smiles.

  “The Adinkra symbol, Akoben, on our forearms,” Nigel says, flexing his tight arms for all to see. “It’s our new business logo.”

  The girls perk up at Nigel’s muscular display. Noticing his latest fans, Nigel winks at the girls and tightens his pose.

  “Calm down,” I say, causing Rah to chuckle. Nigel throws me a look and smiles. My boy knows he’s out of line.

  The girls look at me and I glare back. I could care less who they think they are. I hate it when chicks stunt a dude I’m with if they don’t know our relationship status. It’s just plain disrespectful.

  “That’s beautiful,” I say, admiring the symbol drawn on the front cover of Rah’s beats and rhymes notebook. “What does it mean?”

  “It means vigilant warrior,” Rah’s says, tracing the figure with his right index finger. “It represents the horn used to call warriors to battle.”

  “I love it,” I say, following his movement. “It reminds me of our family veve,” I say, feeling the cool brass emblem against my skin. I touch my left shoulder where my flesh is still tingling from my earlier vision.

  “Jayd, I think it’s time you got some ink on that smooth skin of yours. And don’t worry about the cost; it’s on me,” Nigel says, like it’s as easy as that.

  My dream a little while ago may have been a premonition. Mama’s always saying I should pay closer attention to my dreams. Before I went to sleep I sought an answer on how to beat my great-grandfather in order to defeat Esmeralda’s plan. This might be the response I was looking for. I look down at my left shoulder and examine the same spot where Califia and the other captives were burned. The heat rises in my body indicating to me that I’m on the right path.

  “Funny thing is I had a dream about getting branded. I guess if I got one it would be of this,” I say, pulling the charm out of my shirt and showing it to Nigel.

  Mickey and Sandy are the only girls I know with tattoos. Misty wanted one back in the day but we were too young. Actually, we’re still too young but Julian’s a client of theirs and looks the other way when bartering for herb.

  “It would be nice to see your wild side come out for a change,” Rah says, touching my bare arm with the back of his hand. He still gives me the chills but the vibe isn’t as strong as it once was.

  I stare at my friends, excited about the challenge. Am I really about to do this?

  “I’m in,” I say before I can chicken out. My boys aren’t going to let me go back on my word.

  “All right then,” Julian says, stripping down the plastic covering on his empty chair. He replaces the cover and ushers me to sit down. “Ladies first.”

  Nigel and Rah take a seat in one of the chairs along the wall with a clear view of the session. I can’t believe I’m doing this. It feels like everything’s changing: my friends, my powers, and now my body. When are things going to go back to the way they were?

  “I’ll take the symbol and trace it,” Julian says, reaching for my eleke.

  “No,” I say, protecting my veve. “I’ll draw it myself.”

  “No problem,” Julian says, passing me a pen and pad.

  “Hey, Jayd. You remember when me and Rah got our first tat last year?” Nigel asks, eyeing the girls as they leave the shop. He has enough chick problems as it is. “You were afraid it was going to come to life like in that one Tales from the Crypt episode with Heavy D.”

  “R.I.P. to a legend,” Rah says. Heavy D was on of his favorite old school artists.

  “Yeah, I do,” I say, laughing at my boys. “That’s not the image I need in my head at the moment, Nigel, but thanks,” I say, passing my best version of the image to Julian.

  “My bad, girl,” Nigel says, laughing at my hesitation. “You got this.”

  Julian makes a copy of the image, drenches the paper in some sort of solution and places it on my left shoulder. As soon as the wet paper touches my skin my nerves calm and I feel good about my decision.

  “That’s it, Jayd. Deep breath in, deep breath out,” Rah says like he’s some sort of tattoo guru. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, it does.” The tingling sensation of the veve print gives me a surge of physical and spiritual energy I couldn’t have anticipated.

  “Are you ready?” Julian asks, inadvertently showcasing his tongue ring. This dude is tatted and pierced up.

  “Yes, I am.” I lean forward in the chair and breathe deeply, allowing Califia’s stories to take over my thoughts.

  The needle’s initial contact with my skin is hot and prickly. I follow Rah’s advice and continue my breathing exercises but can’t ignore the nuisance on my shoulder.

  “Relax into it, my child. It’ll be over soon. Then, you’ll have a beautiful symbol of your lineage to carry with you always, scaring the right people straight,” Califia says into my mind. My great ancestor’s presence calms my anxiety. Once I surrender to the process the buzzing sound of the tattoo gun makes me forget all about the slight pain.

  “That’s fresh,” Nigel says, eyeing my ink but I’m too relaxed to care. I’ll wait until it’s all over before checking it out. I know the veve will be perfect.

  “Done,” Julian says, spraying my shoulder down with the same anti-bacterial solution he used to clean the spot a moment ago.

  “You were out like a light,” Rah says.

  “Check it out.” Julian passes me a hand mirror, spins the chair around. I catch my reflection in the vanity and inspect the work.

  Rah takes a picture with his cell and sends it to Nigel and me.

  “Wow,” I say, amazed at how much it resembles Califia’s brand. “It’s even more beautiful than I thought it would be.”

  Nigel nods in agreement. I’m glad my boys were here to witness the evolution of Jayd Jackson. I wish my girls were also here.

  “Glad you like it,” Julian says, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “Keep it covered for a couple of hours. You can bathe, just don’t wash the tat directly or put anything but antibacterial ointment on it until it’s completely healed.” Julian slathers Neosporin over the veve before wrapping it in plastic.

  “How long will that take?” I ask, touching the plastic armband. Just like that, I’ve lost my tattoo virginity.

  “A couple of weeks. After the scab’s all gone you’re good to go,” Julian says. He cleans the area and claims a new needle package for his next canvas.

  “Jayd, you can hook up my hair tomorrow,” Rah says, running his fingers through his Afro. “I’ll pay you double since I know you wanted to take the day off and whatnot.”

  “Cool,” I say, glad for the night off and extra pay. Even if I wanted to I think I’m too excited to braid.

  “Yeah, let’s hit up Roscoe’s after this,” Nigel says, speaking my language.

  They smoked a blunt before I got to Rah’s house. Their munchies have arrived in full effect. I didn’t even get a contact high and I could eat a number nine with a side of greens and a Lisa’s Delight myself.

  “Sounds like a plan,
black man.” I’m excited about my new step toward adulthood, or at least that’s what I’m going to say when my mom and Mama find out. Hopefully they won’t be too upset. It’s not like when I was thirteen and got my ears pierced without their permission. That was a bad day. I never even got a chance to sport my new earrings. When Mama saw my ears she made me take them out immediately under the threat of her removing them for me.

  “Now we’re connected for life, Jayd. You know that, right?” Nigel says as he takes my place in the tattoo chair. “We’re kinfolk, girl.”

  “Is that right?” I ask, eyeing myself in the mirror. All of a sudden I feel more badass than ever before.

  “Yeah, girl,” Rah says. I make myself comfortable in a seat next to my long-time friend and rest my head on his shoulder. “Sharing ink with somebody’s like sharing blood, nahmean?” Rah tilts his head back on the glass and shuts his eyes, patiently waiting his turn.

  I miss the ease Rah and I used to share. It would be nice if we could get back to that place after all of this madness our crew’s experiencing blows over. I begin to drift off myself but the sight of Califia and Cortez fighting over her self-brand comes to the forefront of my mind. There’s something empowering about marking your territory even if it’s on your own body. I don’t blame Califia for taking matters into her own hands. Unfortunately, it’s also how she became an ancestor.

  “That’s it,” I say aloud. I look around to see if anyone heard me but Rah’s practically snoring and Nigel’s in his tattoo vibe. From what I can tell Julian’s almost done; the art looks good.

  I return my head to Rah’s shoulder and contemplate my revelation. I think Rousseau’s trying to join our bloodline anyway he can: First, through biting one of Mama’s godchildren and then again by unsuccessfully chasing me down and trying to take a bite out of my ass. After all these years he knows he can’t get to Mama directly and will go through anyone—or anything—to do it. So, what’s his master plan? I’ll focus on Rousseau and our family business and let Mama handle G’s trial. It’s time Rousseau got a taste of his own medicine. If he wants a bite out of us so bad I’ll make sure he gets all that he desires and more.

  “Some people want nothing more than to be loved, and will go through all types of extremes to get it.”

  -Mama

  Drama High, volume 8: Keep It Movin’

  * * *

  CHAPTER SEVEN: DESPERATE MEASURES

  So far it’s been a peaceful Monday allowing me to get through most of my schoolwork uninterrupted. I even studied up on the shape shifter next door for about an hour before Rah called to remind me that I needed to braid his hair. According to the spirit book, Rousseau—in one form or another—was my great-grandfather’s favorite godson and chosen apprentice. When Jon Paul died, Rousseau attempted to bring him back to life, per Jon Paul’s instructions, but instead turned himself into a shape-shifter with one foot in and one foot out of the afterlife. I guess he wasn’t that great of a student.

  The most important thing I learned was that Jon Paul’s unsettled spirit can move between the spirit and physical worlds when summoned by Rousseau. No wonder Esmeralda called on her former lover to come back into her life. With my great-grandfather’s powers from beyond the grave and his highly favored servant loyal to her, Esmeralda’s paving the way to become quite the formidable adversary. Esmeralda’s after our lineage and there’s no telling what she’ll do to get a drop of a Williams woman’s blood.

  Nigel and Rah have already started the special Monday chill session. The loud studio speakers shake the entire house. With both Mickey and Sandy gone Rah’s glad to finally have the space back to himself and so are we. Weekends at Rah’s house used to be like heaven for my crew and me. It’s the relief we needed after dealing with Drama High all week long. Even though Rah attends a different school we all know every high school has its share of drama no matter the name on the front of the building.

  “I don’t hustle and flow, man/I hustle my flow,” Nigel says through the mic in their homemade studio booth. The fact that they converted the garage into a full-fledged work and chill space is impressive. If push comes to shove Nigel and Rah can always open a home improvement business.

  “If it isn’t the young queen herself,” Rah says from his desk, focused on the hundreds of dials in front of him. His studio equipment cost more than my mom’s car. “How’s the shoulder?”

  “It’s okay,” I say, touching the sensitive ink. “I almost forgot it was there.”

  I nod what’s up to Chase and Alia who are into the football game on the big screen.

  “That’s how the addiction starts, sis,” Rah says, giving me a kiss me on the cheek. “Next thing you know you’ll be tatted up like us.”

  I laugh at Rah and place my hair bag down on the floor next to the coffee table covered with various CDs, magazines and books. I think I’ll lie across the futon while I wait for Rah and Nigel to finish up their recording session.

  “It’s a verb not a noun/Don’t let me see you try and clown/I’ll turn that smile upside down because we takin’ all fake ass niggas down.”

  “Nigel sounds good,” I say. Rah nods in agreement.

  “Slangin’ is my job/spittin’ is my talent/I know some of you weak ass punks can’t handle it/Got the looks, got the brains/Score on average five touchdowns in a game,” Nigel says vehemently into the booth microphone. He’s the only one inside the enclosed space no larger than a shower but it sounds like he’s performing in front of thousands of people he’s so passionate. I haven’t heard him rap like this in a minute.

  “We takin’ these streets back like soldiers in Iraq/Street soldiers/I told ya/We’re street soldiers.”

  “That’s a wrap,” Rah says, signaling Nigel to come out of the booth. How he knows one button from the next on his massive production system is beyond me.

  “Y’all should see if you can get on Bryan’s show,” I say. Bryan would be impressed by their skills, too. “New artists battle once a month.”

  “I’ve heard them cats on there before,” Rah says, removing his headphones. “We got them niggas all day, sun.”

  I’m not a groupie but I agree. They can hold their own with the best of them.

  “Word,” Nigel says, giving his boy props. “What up, girl?” Nigel walks over to where I’m relaxing and gives me a big hug.

  “I need a smoke break,” Chase says, rising from the floor where he was comfortably seated between Alia’s knees. The game must not be going his way if he’s taking a breather.

  “When are you going to give up those death sticks?” I ask. I don’t know what it is with people and cigarettes. If you know something is slowly poisoning you why continue doing it?

  “When death comes and gets me.” Chase thinks that shit is funny but Mama says we should never tempt Iku, the orisha over death. He’s always on the hunt for people making transition from one life to the next whether they’re ready for it or not.

  “Jayd, lighten up,” Alia says, taking a pack of Newports from her hemp purse and passing it to her man. I guess they’re in the same coffin.

  “You too, Alia?” I can’t say that I’m completely shocked. Most of the kids at South Bay High are into some sort of drug use, legal or otherwise. “How are you going to be a vegetarian and smoke cigarettes at the same time?”

  “We’re not old ladies, Jayd,” Alia says, taking a long, menthol cigarette out of the box. “Live a little.”

  Nigel smiles at me and returns to listening to the track they just recorded. I love it when my boys are in their flow. It puts us all in a good mood.

  “Jayd was born old,” Rah says, making himself comfortable on the floor in front of me. I guess he’s ready for me to get to work.

  “Shut up, fool,” I say, smacking him in the back of his head. “I want to live a long life if I can help it, that’s all I’m saying.” My logic is falling on deaf ears. Out of my crew, Nellie and me are the only ones who don’t drink or smoke.

  “Jayd, can you
hook a brotha up after you finish Rah’s braids?” Chase asks, leading his girlfriend outside. Rah doesn’t allow tobacco smoke in his house. “I’ve been growing out my afro,” Chase says, running his fingers through his wavy brown hair.

  Chase will go through any measure to put his newfound blackness on display, poor thing. His hair is getting long, but unlike Jeremy’s kinky locs via his Jewish heritage, Chase’s hair is curly at best. It’ll take a whole lot of maneuvering to get his braids to stay in tact.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I say, focusing on Rah’s full head of hair.

  Rah passes me my hair bag—a stylist is nothing without her tools. Using my favorite red comb I part Rah’s thick hair already knowing he wants ten braids straight back. He’s fully relaxed and I’m into my flow. We’re all enjoying the melodic beats courtesy of Nigel.

  After a while, Chase and Alia make their way back inside. “Nice bag,” I hear Alia say before stepping inside. Who’s she talking to?

  “Hey,” Trish says, walking through the back door like she lives here. Really?

  “What up, Trish?” Nigel says. She looks at me without so much as a blink.

  Trust, the feeling’s mutual.

  “What up, girl?” Rah says. He nods at his ex, looks up at me and shrugs his shoulders as if to say he doesn’t know what the pop-up visit’s for, either.

  “I got your mail,” Trish says, handing the stack to Rah. She looks me in the eye and I dare her to say something smart about me braiding Rah’s hair. She’s not his girlfriend anymore, and even when she was her hating couldn’t stop me from making my paper, tricks be damned.

  “It’s about time my applications got here,” Rah says, claiming three large envelopes from the stack of mostly bills with his mom’s name on it. Too bad Carla’s constantly absent from her children’s lives. Sandy probably sees her more than her own sons do since the two of them dance at the same club. Trifling doesn’t even begin to describe Rah’s mother. It’s a wonder he’s turned out as stable as he has.

  “One of those had better be from UCLA,” Nigel says over the music.