The Viper and his Majesty by Tiana Laveen

CHAPTER FIVE

It’s Raining Trained Cats and Dogs

Iremember standingout in the rain when I was five.

I can think about it now, with an adult mind, but my vision on that day was a child’s. That made everything ten times harder, rougher.

My hair felt heavy, like a helmet against my head, my bones clung to an ungodly coolness, and my clothing glued itself to my skin like a second layer of flesh. I stood out in the rain with my big brother, Diego. We were safer out there, chancing catching pneumonia rather than being within those cursed walls. Inside my childhood home, the tiny house with the sloped roof rang sharp screams and the shattering of goblets and dishes that poured from the closed windows, beating on the glass panes and breaking free to reach our ears. Our belongings were being destroyed. We didn’t have much to begin with. Despite the queasiness and my body shivering, knees buckling, I remained standing. Twisted curse words and wishes of death drifted from the house. I could not turn up the music this time to block them out. I loved my music loud enough to drown out the demons. The music became my guardian angel, but she was nowhere to be found.

No song could kill the wicked witch of wretchedness. She refused to go under. I yearned for it to stop. To go away. Our parents were gasoline and fire. Their love was air, fanning the flames. Toxic kisses and codependency, fucking all morning, fighting, and screaming all night. We heard orgasms and calls to the police all in the same day. Freezing temperatures and rain. Their pain climbed the mountains of sound and stood on top of that peak, drenched in the blood of despair. At last, the screaming stopped. But only for a minute.

My father walked past one of the windows, his back hunched. He looked like a monster, only I knew him well, and he was not hiding in my closet or under my bed. His towering frame was like a looming dark shadow against the broken light. He was walking away now. Far away. He’d been walking away for years, only his feet hadn’t been moving. My mother, with her fragmented mind and festering dejection, pulled him back to her, blocking his way, grabbing him by his shirt. She sank her teeth into his arm, then slapped him with the strength of giants and drained his last bit of hope like a vampire.

He grabbed her, and I screamed out. Diego pulled me to him and placed his hand over my mouth. Silencing me. Made me hiss like a snake, for no words came out as he held my lips tight with his palm. My father dragged her through the house, out of view. Screaming. Laughing. Crying.

We stood out in the rain, our lives falling apart and disappearing into the blades of half dead grass. My mind drifted away, as it did when I watched a movie. I’d never seen my father do such a thing.Mi padre fought her. He beat her. We could not see, but we could feel and hear it as Mamá laughed and cursed him. Each blow to her tore at my heart. It felt like a ruptured rumble, a trickle of our souls melting away. Life in slow motion.

No one came to help us. No one interfered. In that moment, the house looked as if it were covered in a million spiky thorns, with wilted red roses that stunk of decay. I imagined it being crushed by the foliage, and the walls were folding in, smooshed down into the ground with the two of them inside of it. The thought gave me a sense of peace. Things got quiet, but I didn’t budge. I didn’t want to go in the house just yet. For some reason, I hesitated…

Diego and I seemed to have the same reservations, for he didn’t move a muscle, either. I was shivering and cold. Hungry, too. I hadn’t eaten in days. My stomach growled as though a bear cub lived inside of me, desperate to claw his way out. It hurt so badly that soon, I felt nothing at all. Just a dull ache. After a while, I didn’t feel that either. I just stood in the rain. Hungry for love but refusing to ever love again. How could that be? I was so young, and already, I hated it so much. If love made people act this way, I didn’t want it…

Dad came out the house, bursting from the front door with a black bag in his hand and a look of complete defeat and shame on his face. Yes, even at that age, I knew what shame looked like. The same face as when my cousin had been arrested by the police for murdering his wife’s son in a jealous rage.

Tears fell from his eyes. The scars on his face were blurred with moisture, softening his appearance. I had only seen Dad cry at his father’s funeral.Su padre fue el pilar de la familia. Dad bent down and kissed me on the cheek, Diego on the forehead. He told us that he loved us. He then said he had to go before he killed her. We knew he meant it. I don’t remember what he said after that, but I watched him get in his car with that one bag and drive away. He drove off, abandoning us, and then, Diego and I looked at each other. Diego’s black hair was practically covering his eyes, and raindrops dangled from his earlobes and dripped from his nose. He couldn’t see me crying; it was raining. Or at least I thought he couldn’t.

Our parents never lived together again after that day.

Diego drew closer to the door, holding my hand tight, pulling me along. We hesitated in front of the same exit Dad had walked out of. He looked down at me and shook his head, almost in disgust. ‘I told you to stop that! No more! Wipe your face, Dominic. Never cry. Crying is a weakness. It’s for pussies. We have to be strong for Mamá.’ I wiped my face and the snot from my nose with the back of my wet hand, and he helped me get rid of the tears, too. When he was satisfied that I looked the part, we walked back into the house. He looked down at the floor, then picked me up in his arms; I had on no shoes. There was broken glass all over our small living room. Mamá was sobbing in her bed, a little ways down the hall.

We could hear her, make out her form. I know she had to have heard the crunching glass under Diego’s sandals. I know she heard us coming. She didn’t look at us for a long time. We stood quiet at her door, and then, she finally looked up from her bed. Her face had been shoved in the pillow as if she’d wanted to suffocate herself. Her eyes were flushed, her skin splotchy pale pink and yellow. Her black wavy hair was all over the place, her blue butterfly ankle tattoo vibrant against her flesh. Her red nightgown drooped down her shoulders, exposing her breast. She pointed to me and smiled. It was not a typical smile. Not joyous, or a happy-to-see-me smile. It was a gesture filled withoscuridad- darkness.

“I need you to go away.” Her smile faded away like an ink drop in a bucket of black dye, and more tears fell from her mahogany eyes. “I can’t look at you right now. Especially you, Dominic.” Her dark eyes tapered into slits.Te pareces a él.” She pointed at me. “Just look at you. I hate your father. Go away!”

I backed up, then fled into the room Diego and I shared. And I cried in silence. I sat in a corner; my eyes fixed on my reflection in a mirror above the dresser. A rosary hung from it. The beads were gleaming in colors of bright gold and blood red. It started to swing. I covered my mouth with my hands. My sight was blurred with hot tears of disbelief and fright. The rosary swung back and forth like a pendulum. How? Why? Who was moving it? I ignored the insects crawling around me, and the scurrying of mice. I ignored the odor of mildew and mold. I ignored the booming lightning, and the way my skin itched from the wet clothes. The rosary chain suddenly stopped moving, and then, I heard a broom slowly swaying from left to right, right to left. It was Diego, cleaning up our parents’ mess.

Diego always cleaned up the mess. Maybe that was why he eventually left me, as well? Or maybe he thought he was a mess that needed to be cleaned up, too…

Viper gasped as he suddenly awoke and sat up straight. He blinked, opened his eyes, and focused. Am I awake? I am. His muscles ached; an odd stiff pain radiated throughout his sweat-drenched body.

It was raining outside. I must’ve heard it in my dreams. He hated that nightmare. Only, it wasn’t a nightmare. It was true, one of many pages of his book of life. He closed his eyes and touched the gold chain around his neck, the cross pendant with Jesus nailed against it, his head wrapped in gold thorns. His heart pounded painfully in his chest. He took a couple deep breaths, then reached for a bottle of water on his black marble nightstand and gulped it straight down.

He cleared his throat and grabbed his cellphone, taking note of several missed calls and voicemails. He was shocked to see how late in the day it was. 3:14 P.M. He yawned, stretched, then got out of bed. As soon as he opened his bedroom door, the dogs came for him.

“Yo, hey!” He grinned as he dropped to his knees and loved on them. “I slept late, huh? You had food and water. You were okay.” He rubbed them and scratched behind their ears. “You’ve got automatic feeders. Toys, too.” But he knew in his heart they wanted more. They wanted him.

After taking a quick shower, he got dressed in a pair of oversized overalls and his Nikes. He put his Los Angeles Dodgers snapback on his head then headed to the kitchen, only to be surrounded by his furry friends once again. “Mis perros están enamorados de mí!” He made himself a cup of coffee, leaned against the counter, and peered out his window. The rain had finally stopped, and the sun was coming out. He always likened the sun as being a woman. She, too, had awakened late. Shoving a handful of dog treats in his pocket, he retrieved their three leashes from the foyer area. They pranced about, excited as ever.

“No accidents today. Good.” He’d trained them to go out of a special dog door that led into the backyard. It was rather small, so they had to move their bodies just so – to exit and enter, and it had a special lock. He’d also installed an electric fence, as well as a dog hut for shelter in case of a sudden downpour. He set the alarm and opened the front door. The air was scented with the promise of another bout of rain. He inhaled, exhaled, then started walking. It was strangely quiet outside, so different from Little Havana and the various places he’d visited throughout his lifetime.

His phone buzzed in his pocket as Sarge paused to sniff a tree trunk. The other two joined in. A piss sniff fest.

“Hola, Marie.” He yanked the leash, forcing Sarge to come closer. “¿Cómo estás?”

“No lo estoy haciendo bien, Viper.”

He paused.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay physically?”

“Physically, yes.” She took a labored breath, as if she could barely breathe.

“Is it Stacks? It’s Stacks, isn’t it? Is he in trouble?”

“No, Viper. Stacks is fine. I was told you came by and had a talk with him and some of the others. From what I understand and see, they’re following your orders. I’m calling because Javier got into a fight with Dice.”

Javier and King Dice had never liked one another. Ego. Pride. Competition. It had begun due to a woman many years ago, but the animosity never ended, even after she’d left. When it came to internal Nation fighting, they were at the top of the tier, always at each other’s throats. Javier was immature, but very good at tattooing and getting fast money.

“I thought Dice had moved to California to be with his wife’s family? I haven’t seen him in months.”

“He came back last week. I meant to tell you. It wasn’t planned. He had a falling out with his wife’s father. Everything was fine for a couple of days, then they went out drinking.”

He rolled his eyes, then began walking the dogs again.

“Javier can’t control his alcohol. Su lengua se afloja. Belleza!” he hollered, then whistled. She’d snarled at a cat on someone’s porch then tried to make a mad dash towards it. “Belleza. Sit.” The dog immediately stopped pulling the leash and sat down, still as a soldier. “So, I take it, this time, things went too far, and Javier is in trouble?”

“Si, but he did not strike first.”

“Does Jaguar know?”

“Si. La policía disolvió la pelea. Dice was arrested.”

“Shit.” He took a deep breath, tossed on a smile, and waved when one of his neighbors drove down the street—a little Jewish woman originally from New York who never smiled or waved back. Now there were two Kings in jail within a matter of days, and the police wanted information. Things were being made too easy for them. Perhaps they’d pit Wild and Dice against one another, make it seem as if each was dropping dimes. Viper knew the game and how it was played. He’d been around too long to not catch on. “Marie, find out how much his bond is. Wild isn’t getting out anytime soon, they made sure of that, but Dice’s bond should be cheap unless they’ve tossed other trumped-up charges at him. We have to get him out of there.”

“Okay. I will call you back when I find out.”

“Gracias. I’ll handle it.”

“I know you will. You always do.”

He disconnected the call, then turned around at the corner. Absently aware of his Glock-19 against his hip as he walked back to his house, he sent several text messages to fellow Kings, asking what they knew about the situation, as well as trying to get an update on Wild. It was challenging to keep his thumb on his brothers when not right amongst them, but after he paid the pop-up visit, he had a better hold of the situation. It reminded them who was in charge, and any fuck-up would result in a severe punishment. Then, he saw a text from Jaguar. The inevitable had come home to roost.

Vibora, tenemos un problema.

Yeah, we have a problem all right…

He approached a few tall trees and allowed Chance, Sarge, and Belleza to roam a bit less close to him while he dialed Jaguar. This warranted a verbal conversation.

“Hola, Jaguar. What’s up?”

“I understand Wild got into some trouble.”

“Si. I’m handling it.”

“He is weak under pressure. He will run his mouth. Are you bailing him out?”

“The judge made the bail too high, but I got him a good attorney.”

“When the opportunity presents itself, take him out.” With that, he ended the call.

Viper slipped the phone back into his pocket, then called to his dogs, and ordered them to keep walking. His legs felt heavy, and the scent of rain in the air made his mind flood with visions of being soaked in the torrent, beside Diego. He kept moving ahead, his thoughts swinging like that rosary on the dresser mirror. This was his concern: that Jaguar would fear that Wild would talk, and his entire operation would sink down to the ground. Everyone had been so careful for so long. Wild knew everyone’s moves; he had the inside information. It was his job. He was a lookout, after all. The perfect target. Viper wished he could’ve been surprised by Jaguar’s call, but he wasn’t.

King Jaguar was in prison, serving a ten-year sentence for assault and weapons charges, with three years served. He still ran his local operation with an iron fist, behind those bars. He always had access to cell phones, the internet, whatever he needed. He’d had several members killed for what he deemed was disrespect, bucking his authority. Jaguar was the epitome of no fucks given. He had an estranged wife and two ex-girlfriends, his baby mamas, several children with each, and made sure all of them were living well. He had drugs coming and going so fast, the money was almost too easy to make. With all of that power, all of that dope, and all of that command, problems were imminent. Jaguar wasn’t the quiet child he recalled so many years ago.

When they were kids, they were close, like brothers, though Jaguar was a few years his senior, the same age as his big brother. It came as no surprise that he and Diego had joined the Latin Kings on the exact same day, both of them jumped on and beaten within an inch of their lives. Viper was soon to follow. Less than a year later, he was brought into the fold. At the time, at the mere age of fourteen, he was certain that this was the life he wanted. Protection in an uncertain world. A family at last. Shelter from the rain.

He’d worked hard to prove himself, to show he had what it took, to try and be even better than his brother. Stronger. Smarter. After a while, the beatings and murders got easier to handle, until he felt nothing at all. Numb. Everyone had to earn their stripes and their keep, to bring in dough, and maintain honor. Rather than be involved in robberies or dealing drugs like many of his Nation brothers, he got into acquiring weapons and soon garnered a reputation for his vicious assaults in retaliation for the slightest infractions. He stayed in the gym, kept his weight up, and never let his guard down. Some people didn’t know how to take him; he wasn’t a braggart, he didn’t kiss ass, and he didn’t kiss and tell. He kept his business to himself, his friends close, enemies closer—some of those enemies being fellow Latin Kings—but family, including his Latin King brothers, was crucial to him.

When Marie called him and requested a coming home bash for Stacks, he didn’t shillyshally, but something about looking into her eyes as she prepared food, sang in his kitchen and laughed broke his heart. He’d been away from Little Havana, and in that time, it seemed his mind had begun to play tricks on him. His desires were changing, his thirst for being in the thick of it all waning. Marie was getting up in age; the life she’d lived shone on her beautiful, mature face. She looked far older than she was and had buried most of her children. How was this nirvana? He saw himself in her, but imagined he’d be in a box six feet under with a gunshot to his head by the time he reached her age. Execution style. The same had happened to her eldest son.

She was in the life, had slowed down but was still quite active. She was still trying to protect and serve, calling and warning him and other officers in the Nation of things she’d seen and heard. His last stint in prison had made him weary, so he’d stepped back from the weapons commerce and focused on what he’d done since he was a boy: train dogs. If he got serious about this business, it would be lucrative, and perhaps, subconsciously, he knew it would also be like insurance. A way out.

He was a natural at it. He loved animals, especially dogs. It had begun by accident. He’d found a stray dog and brought it home to his mother. She hadn’t wanted it, but he’d begged her to keep it. She’d said, ‘Dominic, I don’t want that filthy animal in our home, but you’ve been begging me for days, and you keep sneaking him back in here. I will make you a deal. If you can make it not shit or piss in my house, and do tricks and obey, you can keep it. If you can’t, and he acts up, he’s gone.’ Mamá had been certain the dog would be out the door soon. There was no way he, at the age of 11, could have trained a wild, stray street dog to do any of those things.

But he’d taken her challenge and taught the mutt multiple tricks, potty trained it, and even trained it to fetch her slippers and the remote control. She’d been sold.

He soon reached the bottom of his driveway. His thoughts scattered like jumbled puzzle pieces. Then, a noise sounded in the distance. He turned and stared at the house with the slightly sloped lawn where the pretty Majesty dwelled.

Her car was back in her driveway, fixed. Viper had paid for everything, without a second thought. She’d shown no interest in him whatsoever, yet he’d insisted on helping her.

Or maybe it was the challenge of it. Fact was, he was thinking about her far too much, and he was beginning to get on his own nerves. Instead of a thank you, she’d left a curt handwritten note in his mailbox letting him know she’d found out the total for the repairs, she would appreciate it if he would not interfere again, and she’d be paying him back in full. The script was in dark purple ink, flowy and elegant. Pretty. As he looked at the note, smelling it, the sweetness of the paper perhaps inadvertently soaked with a drop of her perfume, he wondered why she didn’t have a man.

Could she be crazy? A lesbian? Well, she had to have liked dick at least one time, because she’s got a son… Maybe she’d just gotten out of something? He had questions, and he wanted them answered. His singlehood was by choice. Was she the same? Inside the house, he turned off the alarm and the dogs dashed straightaway to their individual water dispensers and food bowls. He took his time hanging up the leashes, then made his way up the steps to his weight room.

He turned on the music system in his home gym, and “Tres Deliquentes” by Delinquent Habits blasted through the speakers. Taking off his shirt, he started with the weight bench, grunting with each push of the two-hundred-pound weights. After a short while, he increased the weight, then some more, bursting into a drenched sweat and growing angrier and angrier.

I’m tired! I’m sick of this shit! Jaguar has no clue what he’s doing. He’s taking out too many people, way too fast. That’s going to draw more attention from the wrong people. We’ll look unorganized. Fractured. I understand his concerns, but killing Wild is a bad idea. It’s not the answer unless we have concrete proof he snitched. Yet I know he won’t listen to me. He thinks he knows better than everyone else. King Million should’ve never crowned him in this position. Jaguar wasn’t ready. It doesn’t even matter now… I’ve been fed up for a while. I can’t leave my brothers, though. The Nation is losing soldiers. If I leave now, more lives will be lost. These guys can’t make it on their own. They need me, King Beast, Juan, and the rest of us, especially the enforcers. I help these young guys get on the right path. Try to show ’em other things they can do instead of hanging in the street. They’ve got to be cleverer. Work smarter.

The streets are different now. People walk around strapped, but not everyone knows how to shoot. The police are crawling everywhere. They want to drive the poor out by arresting and targeting them, so the buildings can be bought up and gentrification can commence. Why can’t these idiots see that has been the plan all along? They’re pussies! They don’t think! It’s just a bunch of noise. No strategic planning. They just rush in and fuck everything up. I don’t need teardrop tattoos. I know the bodies I’ve got, and so does everyone else. I’ve been wettin’ motherfuckers up since I was fourteen! Nobody knows how to fight anymore! Nobody knows how to shut their fuckin’ mouths, either… These idiots are smoking their own product. Lame. People who aren’t from where we’re from don’t understand our thinking…

He gritted his teeth as he kept pumping, his arm muscles and biceps burning along the way.

They say, if you gangbang, you’ll be dead before you know it. But little do they know, many of us would’ve been dead if it weren’t for the Nation… for bangin’. Our lives are short, but longer with a tribe. People judge! But they don’t get it. I get it… They don’t know my story; no one but Diego and I know the truth. And now, I want to do something else with the time I have here on this planet. I don’t know if I’m goin’ to heaven or hell, but I know I want a piece of paradise right now, and this ain’t it. I am so fucking tired… I know there’s more out here for me. The world is so fucked up. And I’m fucked up, too…

I don’t want to take out any more of my brothers for petty shit, or shit that wasn’t their fault. Yeah, they need their ass kicked, but to wet them up for being ten minutes late to the meeting? It happens… I’m sick of that, too. Some of this no longer makes sense. I can’t keep doing shit that doesn’t make sense to me anymore, just for the sake of tradition. Life within itself isn’t precious to me, but a chance to believe in its worth is gold. I wonder what that feels like? To care? I don’t remember. I’d like to remember, though. Maybe I’m getting too fucking soft in my old age? Nah, I just want somethin’ else. Ya gotta grow, right? I feel stagnated. Stuck. Mamá said I’m like my father. She’s told me that my entire life. Said she loves me, but she could never control me. She blamed Diego when she found out I had joined the Latin Kings, but it wasn’t Diego’s fault. She had two sons lost to the streets, and she cried about it. She knows that deep down, Diego wasn’t to blame. I needed something she couldn’t give me. A sense of belonging. Shelter out of the rain. I needed no shattered glass, no black duffle bags, and no windows blocked by demons, dancing on the backs of angels born of the light.

I can’t just walk away… Well, I could, but then of course… there’s THAT. I’m on a mission… I have to do it. It’s mine. I must finish the cycle… FUCK EVERYONE.

He pushed the weight up for the last time, placed the barbell back, and sat up, his entire body drenched in sweat. After stewing in his own thoughts for what felt like an eternity, he got to his feet and jumped in the shower of his master suite bedroom. Cypress Hill’s, ‘Insane In the Membrane’ played as he rinsed off and stepped onto the plush black rug to dry off. He proceeded to check his schedule on his computer. Two new dogs would be coming over soon for an initial consultation for training, but he had about an hour to kill beforehand. I’ll eat a little something. He tossed on a black V-neck T-shirt and black cargo shorts, then a pair of no-show white socks under his red and black GOAT Jordans.

Moments later, he was riding down the street on his BMW F 900 XR motorcycle, making his way to the Taco Inn Food Truck, located next to the local brewery. The spot had strange business hours, but he was in luck. They were open. The delectable scent of fresh salsa, grilled pork, beef, and chicken wafted in the air, making his stomach growl in anticipation. This was one of the few spots where he could find authentic Mexican cuisine. He ordered some Birria tacos, one of his favorites, and headed back home, checking the time every so often. As he approached his house, he noticed Majesty’s son playing with a couple of other little boys in the front yard.

He slowed down, noting that one of the kids was White, and the other Asian. They were tossing a ball between them, laughing and carrying on. He smiled at the sight, then slowed when the ball rolled down the driveway, into the street…