IA: Invincible Assassin Page 8

  Supreme confidence makes de boys go wild

  Asia runs dis world like Destiny’s Love Child

  Born in poverty don’t dictate life leaders

  Lawyers, doctors, politicians, preachers

  Wordsmith appears from nowhere wit no warning

  Like a winter storm in da midst of global warming”

  I laugh, reach in my pocket, take out the few singles, and put them in Juba’s hat. A strong scent of peppermint emanates from him. I give all the girls high fives and then give Naz a nod. He puts his hands in his pockets and shuffles over. Something’s clearly brought him down. I’ve got just the remedy—or rather, Juba does.

  “May I?” I ask one of the girls, indicating the conga drum she’s playing. She steps aside, and I take over the beat. “This is my friend, Naz, Juba.”

  Juba shakes Naz’s hand with one hand and keeps the beat with the other. “What kinda name is Naz, mon?”

  “I don’t know, just a name.” Naz shrugs.

  “It’s Naz for Samson the Nazarite,” I say, giving my two cents and lose my timing on the drum.

  “Naz da Nazarite it tis den, mon.” Juba silences the girl and me from beating the drums with a hand gesture. Then, he continues with a new rhythm, taking over all three of the drums. Juba laughs, showing all of his crooked, discolored teeth and then summons all the people standing around to come closer. He yells, “Challenge,” and points to me, something I did not expect.

  I open my mouth, but unprepared, nothing comes out.

  “All right den, I go,” Juba says looking at Naz. He changes the beat and then begins.

  “Naz is de Nazarite strong and proud

  No haircut is de Nazarite vow

  Scar on de neck make ’im look real tough

  Samson was a strongman is Naz just a cream puff?”

  Everyone laughs, Naz smiles, and Juba doesn’t miss a beat. I concentrate and ready myself.

  “One tousand Philistines fell dat day

  Will de Incubus Apostles fall de same way?

  No more killing. Enough is enough

  Juba Lee has spoken. De Wordsmith is up.”

  Juba’s words shake me, and I stumble.

  “A-Across the street is the A.B.C.

  I sense defeat for the Juba Lee

  The Harvis will come, and the world will see

  And Juba will bow to his majesty

  The Wordsmith and Naz, remember the names.”

  I lose it, and Juba takes over.

  “Come one come all. In defeat, dere’s no shame.

  And witness de Wordsmith go down in flames.”

  Juba laughs louder than I’ve ever heard him laugh, and the crowd joins him. He shakes my hand and then pulls me in for the man hug. He does the same with Naz.

  Before we go our separate ways, I have to ask Naz. “What was that all about?

  “Huh?” Naz is still in some melancholy mood.

  “You acted like you saw a ghost back there.”

  “Oh, that song the girls were singing … Love Child. It was Meri’s favorite.”

  I don’t say anything. We never talk about what Juba said about the Incubus Apostles. Naz just goes his way, and I go mine.

  It’s as if Naz regresses and goes back in time. For the next two and a half weeks, he retreats to his original triangle: the cemetery, the Excelsior, and Leopold’s. To make matters worse, it’s February, the coldest month of the year. And for the last three days, it’s been below zero. It doesn’t seem to bother Naz as he spends an hour or two at a time at the cemetery. I thought hearing Juba would have lifted his spirits even higher than they were. But I didn’t count on the junior Supremes bringing back memories of Meri.

  I receive a text from Naz right after school. He wants to meet at the Excelsior. I wonder if he’s being considerate to school hours or is it just a coincidence. I head over. He sits in the back row of the theater, so he’s easy to find. Enter The Dragon is playing, and I know whatever he wants to talk about, I’m going to be distracted. Bruce Lee is my favorite martial artist, and Enter the Dragon is my all-time favorite movie.

  “Boards … don’t hit back,” I say along with Bruce.

  “Are you listening?” Naz regains my attention.

  “Sorry.”

  “In two weeks we’re meeting with the AG Killers.”

  “AG?”

  “Aquinas Grove.”

  “How’d you manage to set that up, and what exactly are we meeting about?”

  “What we talked about earlier … getting a piece of a bigger pie.”

  “You mean the Incubus Apostles?”

  He nods.

  “I’m not understanding you. What does that have to do with…” Meri? “Where will this meeting take place? And I thought the Incubus—”

  “Major General in Aquinas Grove.”

  “Major General? Where the riot started last year? I thought that placed burned down.”

  “No, just burned. It’s the Killers lair now, their home turf.”

  “That giant superstore you can see from the Helix?”

  “Parking lot and all.”

  “Doesn’t it have a barbed wire fence around it?”

  He nods. “And if something happens there, the police won’t come. It’s considered condemned.”

  “Excellent,” I say, hoping my sarcasm seeps through.

  “The good news is we’re meeting with no weapons.”

  “Not that it matters.” I get distracted as Bruce finally takes out one of the main bad guys on the screen in slow motion. “Bruce is cold,” I say. When I look at Naz, he’s staring at me expressionless. “And the bad news?”

  “They’re more than a hundred strong.”

  I blink. “Sooo … what do they want with the Incubus Apostles? You’ve all but decimated their ranks. I hear they’re running scared of some demon called the Invincible Assassin.” I laugh, but he doesn’t. “I get it. You’re going to the meeting to see what they know about this … boss.”

  He nods and looks back at the screen. No doubt about it now, he’s reaching, grasping at straws. But I don’t discourage him. He’s running out of options, and it’s best to let this thing play out.

  “Last question: How are we going to round up the last Apostles and get them to come to that meeting?”

  “Leave that to me.”

  We watch the rest of the movie, and for one moment in time, I feel like we’re eighth graders again, without a care in the world.

  It’s closer to three weeks when I finally get the call, a week before the first day of spring. But it feels like summer. Naz says it’s going down tomorrow, and that I don’t need to bring anything. It must’ve been a long three weeks for Naz, as there can’t possibly be anything left for him to do. He spends most of his time back at the Normandy: a high-rise hotel in Aquinas Grove. The last of the Apostles are nowhere to be found. Naz has even defaced most of their graffiti on the streets; spray paint his weapon of choice.

  Tomorrow comes, and I can’t help but hope today will be the day: the day Naz discovers the answer to his question—that there are no answers. Things have been normal with school; Coach, and Soul, and I have decided to give up the AAU charade. The truth is so much easier to keep up with—well, some of the truth. I told Coach I quit. Of course, he probably never believed I was on the team. I don’t go to school today but instead get on the Helix and take the twenty-minute ride to the site of the Aquinas Grove riot last year, now simply known as the Ghost Store and den of the AG Killers. I told coach I was going home to Soldiers’ Plank to meet with my dad. He probably knows I’m up to—no good.

  I can see the monstrosity from the Helix, and it looks like something out of a dystopian nightmare. My stop is two blocks past my destination, which is a convenient place to meet Naz and go over any last-minute details—if there are any.

  As I come out of the small terminal, Naz stands leaning against a light pole as an irrelevant figure against the backdrop of what I assume is a typical bustling Aquin
as Grove morning. He leads the way as if he’s walked this path before. I’m sure he has, mapped it out in his mind and on foot.

  I break the stoic silence. “So … where’s the rest of our gang?”

  Our pace quickens.

  “Patience. I told you I’d take care of it,” he says.

  “You did.”

  After walking a block, the bustling morning scene has dissipated to only Naz and me. Around the corner looms Major General. I steel myself. When we round the corner, I see Skinny and go deep into my fighting stance, one hand low and the other high prepared to attack. I lash out with a backfist to the bridge of the nose followed by a sidekick to the solar plexus, which backs him up convincingly. I land three more blows before Naz grabs me from behind.

  “Stop!” Naz yells, probably holding me with all his might.

  It immediately occurs to me that Naz is not talking to Skinny but me. Skinny must be stunned but makes no effort to defend himself other than attempting to protect his face.

  “He’s on our side,” Naz explains.

  “What?!” I struggle, confused.

  “He’s on our side,” Naz repeats. “He’s not one of the Apostles.”

  “Let me go,” I demand.

  “Don’t let ’im go … not if he’s gonna hit me again.” Skinny attends to his bloody nose and lip.

  “Wordsmith?” Naz tightens his grip.

  “I’m not gonna hit ’im,” I yell.

  Naz lets me go, and I adjust my clothes and regain my composure.

  “What’s goin’ on?” I ask.

  “Skinny’s here to help. He’s not a part of the gang, any gang. He used to be, before Roffio, now he’s sort of an informant. I ran into him when I got out of the hospital. His half brother is still in the gang, and he agreed to help me if I promised to spare his brother when the time came.”

  I finally gather myself and regroup after hearing this unexpected information. “You gotta start telling me stuff.”

  Naz nods.

  Skinny wipes his nose again. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard … and I didn’t know who you were that day.”

  I look at Skinny. It’s going to take a minute for this to sink in. “So now what?” I pace back and forth. “Wait … let me guess. We pretend we’re the Incubus Apostles while you get answers.”

  “I told you he was smart,” Naz says to Skinny. “Show him your arm.”

  Skinny angles his forearm to reveal a tattoo of the symbols: the sword, the serpent and the eye that formed the letters, IA. I scoff.

  “It’s not a tattoo. I drew it on this morning … so I can look the part.”

  “Skinny’s in school to be a graphic artist.”

  I’m impressed but refuse to show it. I’m still not ready to forgive Skinny for the concussion he gave me two months ago. “Where’s yours?” I ask, mocking Naz, knowing he would never stoop to that level.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Let’s go.”

  It’s only then I notice Naz has an armband covering where an IA tattoo would go. I might be endangering the mission as my forearms are exposed, and I have no IA tattoo.

  “Naz. What are we gonna do about this: no tattoos?” I stick out my arms.

  He stops, probably thinking. “Keep ’em folded and out of sight.”

  We walk for a good amount of time around the perimeter of the fence to the back of the massive structure where Naz has found or created an opening.

  When we come through the fence and onto the blacktop parking lot, it seems to have gotten hotter. The sun beams off the pavement, and up ahead a small heat-induced mirage appears as a puddle and then disappears. A massive metal door slides open on a loading dock and what looks like a small army emerges. This meeting is going to be interesting.

  They are dressed in different colors but all dark: maroon, navy, black, and brown, from head to toe. From this distance, they could all be wearing jumpsuits. Skinny and I flank Naz, and there is no hesitation in his gate. He’s on a mission. The problem is, so are the hundred plus gang members in front of me. They all wear ball caps that make me think of my baseball days. As we get closer, I notice they all have on work clothes: pants and shirts that match, not jumpsuits. And boots. They’re well-organized. I’ll give them that.

  “What makes you think they won’t have weapons?” I ask under my breath.

  “It’s not like they need them. You scared, Wordsmith?” Naz teases, quietly.

  “Petrified, Tin Man,” I murmur, calmly. The truth is, curiosity cancels out my fear.

  They all wear brass belt buckles with the initials AG. They’re clean cut with an age range of maybe fifteen to twenty, maybe even older. Some of them have on training masks—what da?

  I’m assuming the one front and center is the leader. He wears a mask, which hides the qualities about him that would help me determine his age. He walks right up to Naz and stops a foot in front of him. He’s slightly shorter than Naz but about the same build. But there’s something different about him, his swagger, something I can’t quite put my finger on.

  Half of the gang members continue past us until we are surrounded. Well, so much for putting our backs up against the fence. Retreat is also out of the question. Your move, Naz.

  “Who are you?” says the leader, his voice synthesized through the mask he wears.

  Sweet!

  Naz doesn’t answer.

  The leader lashes out, doubling Naz over with a punch to the stomach.

  Observe, discourage, and report. Observe, discourage, and report. I calm myself.

  Skinny has taken a step forward. Two AG Killers almost as big as he is step to him, and he stands down.

  “Who … are you?” the leader asks again.

  Naz comes up slowly. “Incubus Apostles.”

  He appears to look into Naz’s eyes. “You’re lying.” He nods to one of the other gang members who moves in front of me. He grabs my left forearm and shows it to the leader. I don’t resist. So much for hiding my lack of a tattoo.

  This time the leader hits Naz with a backfist that has more the quality of insult than injury.

  “Naz Andersen.” Naz spits blood on the ground next to the leader, the result of a busted lip.

  “Third time’s a charm,” says the leader in that haunting synthesized voice.

  He lashes out at Naz again, but this time Naz blocks the punch and goes into a fighting stance. The leader goes into a fighting stance of his own, and I hear the entire army around me prepare to engage. What are you thinking, Naz?

  “Stand down,” the leader yells, and the small army that surrounds us goes into parade rest.

  Impressive.

  “So, you’re the one who killed Roffio,” the leader says.

  Naz doesn’t answer; he waits, but he doesn’t have to wait long, as the leader is on him in a second with a series of hand and foot techniques that would impress the most discriminating martial arts aficionado. He’s obviously taken Naz by surprise, putting him in a totally defensive posture. Surprisingly, the leader manages to break through Naz’s defenses, which only serves to wake Naz up. When that happens, it’s all she wrote, which are fitting words.

  In seconds, Naz ends the charade. He catches the leader’s punch and overpowers him, making the leader hit himself in the face with his own fist. The action causes the leader’s hat and mask to fly off. His … wait! Her? Her hair cascades past her shoulders. Naz, apparently not noticing, never lets go of her fist. He spins her around, switching to her wrist, pulling her arm behind her back and up until she screams in pain. It’s only then Naz gets it. He’s just beaten up a girl, a beautiful girl, a deadly, beautiful girl—be still my beating heart. I finally close my mouth.

  “I’m sorry.” Naz lets her go and hurries to face her.

  She immediately knees him in the groin—ooh—sending him to the ground on his side. He holds himself, rolling back in forth, apparently in excruciating pain—so much for chivalry. Snickers come from the gang members around us.


  “Now, why are you here?” The leader flexes her arm back and forth, relieving the pain Naz has just inflicted on it.

  She looks to be in her late teens, maybe even twenty.

  “I’m here to talk to your leader, your boss,” Naz struggles to say.

  “Leader? I’m the only leader here.”

  “The one Roffio answered to,” Naz fishes. “Who is your boss?” Naz yells out of frustration.

  He must be searching all of their thoughts now, and my guess is he’s finding nothing.

  “Who are you talking to?” she asks, looking around them. “Roffio answered to only Roffio, and he was no friend of ours. So, Naz Andersen, you did us a favor.” She extends a hand to him.

  He looks at her hand apprehensively, takes it, and gets up. “I didn’t kill Roffio. He died in the fire. It was an accident.”

  “Well, may he rest in peace. What can the Aquinas Grove Killers do for you, Naz Andersen?” she says, statesmen-like.

  Naz stumbles around, just now gaining his footing. He looks at me.

  “Do you have knowledge of anyone known as the boss who Roffio might have been answering to?” asks Naz.

  She shakes her head, and for the first time, she gives a look of concern and sincerity.

  “I do have one favor. I need to bring the rest of the Incubus Apostles out in the open. I need them to know that the AG Killers took out Naz Andersen, took out the Invincible Assassin.” Naz looks back at Skinny.

  Skinny nods.

  “It will be our pleasure,” she says.

  “Thank you. You guys don’t seem like any gang I’ve ever seen in Marshal Park.”

  “We’re not. Our job is to keep drugs off the street and gangs like the Incubus Apostles off of our streets and out of our neighborhoods.”

  I have to stop and replay in my brain what just came through my ears. Naz just shakes his head, probably looking for his playback button as well.

  “Don’t believe everything you hear on the streets,” she adds.