A THIEF IN THE NIGHT
By
Chauntay Overton
Sas and Boonie
Rain had fallen all day until the ease of evening in Portland as the street lamps tucked between each tree cast its hazy yellow glow on to the slick pavement.
Evergreen pines lined the sidewalks, sitting on a down-slope made them seem as though they were lit, pointed stairs going down into darkness as a sleepy town of street lights lay underneath.
A sting of saltwater penetrated the sweet air. Half a million dollar estates were set on auto timers, but a thief knew when a family left seeking warmth from south of the equator.
"Sas, how's that fine ass sister of yours doin?" Boonie croaked, shivering. Sas glared at Boonie, whom was huddled in the leather seat of the Suburban, trying to light a joint. The orange flame flickered against the bitter darkness.
Boonie looks as if he were a spook that rode the deep night skies, a massive mound of white misty flesh.
"Boonie, are you retarded? She's my sister, your cousin, and she's black remember? Your ass is KKK or something, right?" Boonie blushes.
"Well, that's kinda what I meant, but the last time I went to drop some shit in Mexico to Raul, Sadie didn't look so good, she looked tired, I reckon livin with
Raul will do that to ya." that comment troubled Sas. He had planned to seeing Sadie; it's been five years already. Sas lights a Marlboro Red and takes a pull.
"So, what are you saying?" the silhouette of Sas's penetrating chin against the full yellow moon suspended in front of the windshield gave him the profile of a half moon. Its appearance was even more prominent, especially the way he bit his bottom lip when he was agitated. Sas was scary even when he wasn't angry. His left eye had a mole on it; he could give a definite stare that stirred fear. His very appearance was of one not to be fucked with. He spoke cold, deep, and cut down to the bones. Boonies' red face looked like the nose that lit up on the Operation game. Sas growled, "Man, breathe." from behind a cloud of smoke, Boonie tells him he needed to check on her.
Time passed like seconds while they ransacked the little office in back of the mini mansion. Oregon had a great deal to offer those in trouble, and Sas found what they came to get and Boonie kept an eye on the unexpected family of hostages.
"Hey baby. Where's Sas?" asked an alert voice on the other end of the mustard yellow princess phone that Cathy had answered after the ninth frustrating ring.
The waterbed rocked its waves softly lulling Sas even deeper into sleep. After a pleasurably day with Cathy dining at Bigsby's on Venice beach boardwalk they walked, talked and caught up on the ins and outs of time missed in between. Later that night her fiery passions exhausted him.
She gently reached over and gave Sas a tug, nothing. His soft breath wheezed into the down pillows.
"Sas honey, phone." she whispered as she tugged him again, gently. He stretched, turned over and gathered her into his arms as he took the phone.
"Yea," he asked groggily.
"Sas, I need you baby. I got a job. Remember the judge who worked the deal on your case?" implied the frantic voice.
"Yea,"
"Well, he needs you to go to Maine."
"For what?"
"Software, some kind of hard drive." said Jimbob.
"When?"
"Now!"
"Damn Jimbob, now?" he asked sitting himself upright in the bed as Cathy rolled over to sleep.
"How much!"
"Fifty thousand, five thousand upfront plus travel expenses."
"Ump. OK, address and shit?" Sas writes on a note pad on his nightstand and hangs up the phone before turning to Cathy.
"I know." disappointment already settled on her delicate face.
"Look baby, you know how it is." he turned her to him and looked at her soft creamy skin as he kissed her with reassurance.
"I'll be back in a few weeks, Cathy." he whispered to her. Again, she said, "I know." He kisses her, turns to take five thousand dollars from his nightstand, and puts it on hers.
"Don't be sad baby, when I come back I want you wearing nothing but a camisole and the yellow diamond earrings, OK?" he asked tenderly. She'd cast her brownish green eyes at him and smiled, flashing snow white teeth from behind full luscious lips as he gazed upon her. The thought of her warmth squeezing him delayed his departure by an hour.
"You look pretty with your hair pressed out baby." he complimented as he set out to once again venture this brown roller coaster of bewitching passion, running his finger through her hair, giving it gentle tugs and pulls.
"Thank…" she never finished her soft sentence.
"Ssshh…I know." he kissed her, together they knew at that moment no words were needed, only the missing you until then strokes of tender pleasure.
Afterward, she waved to Sas from the upstairs bedroom window of his Calabasas estate as he backed out the driveway and drove into the sunrise.
Time was not wasted in departing California. There is a lot to see on the way to Maine. At dusk, California desert sunsets are so alive. Cactus flowers seemed to bloom early in the warmth of golden skies, but the nights were cold. Crossing the states brought the true look of what is left of winter and the beginnings of spring into full beautiful view.
Tennessee no longer allowed peeks of its lovely passionflowers and the Poplar provided some shelter for the mockingbird. This was once Cherokee land, the land of his grandmother and grandfather, who were part Sioux and Blackfoot.
To Sas's grandmother, Augustine, his hair was his crowning glory; she loved to see him walking in the North Dakota land free of white man's shoes. Billowing loose waves of chestnut hair, even at nine years old his hair was always first noticed, after that the realization that Indians are Negro too.
Yet, the meadowlarks dashed playfully around him as he gathered Augustine bunches of wild prairie rose that grew happily all over the land. His cinnamon eyes captured every sharp hot ray of the sun that nourished his copper skin and the western wheat grass.
To his grandmother he was Wilhelmina's son, the resistance of white mans' hate and a symbol of colored mans' love.
Sas's father was hung from the mighty tree down the lane. As a child, from his bedroom window, Sas could see the shadows of branches creep at him like finger ghosts riding the light of the moonlit sky. His father defied white man and continued to see Wilhelmina; his "Setting Sun" whose beauty set fire in the hearts of every man that dared lay eyes on her.
Wilhelmina Setting Sun loved a colored a man. Sas's father never had a chance to see Sadie, his sister. Wilhelmina lingered on and off for a few days after birthing Sadie, and died shortly after hearing the news of her husbands' demise. Sas held her feverish head to his chest as her last breath softly whispered a promise.
Connecticut's white oaks slept as Sas swept through. Blueberries in winter, only in Maine.
Raul and Sadie
"Chu knows what, Sadie?" Raul asked her in a heavy Spanish accent, at the dinner table, finely set with the burgundy and twenty-four carat gold trim service ware and solid gold flat ware from Spain. The champagne flutes only added to the elegance of the evening's false serenity.
Sadie shifts nervously in her seat. If only her eyes sparkled like the diamonds that dangled from her delicate ears.
"No, darling what is it?" Her breast peeked from her button up cashmere. Raul eyed his wife feeling his pride swell. He realized she never initiated any contact with him; she made him feel as if it were a simple act of rape. His pride stopped swelling and his temper started rising.
"Chu look lovely, but before chu say thank you, let me ask chu…" he wipes his mouth with the burgundy silk napkins as he rises from his chair at the head of the table. "…Do chu love me Sadie and if chu do, why do I always have to take you, my own wife, in my bed? Chu makes me feel like chu do not want any part of me."
As he approaches, from her seat, she raises her beautiful green eyes to him and he sees the pain mixed with the swelling of tears. He slaps her out of her chair.
Sadie had learned not to ask questions, offering an apology seemed to always lighten his mood.
"I'm sorry honey. I'll try to do better." she says as she raises herself from the cool marble flooring onto her chair.
Raul's hair is wilder than the storm brewing in his eyes. He lifts Sadie by her neck with one hand to his face as she tries to pull his hand away to breathe; her sobs struggle to break free of her throat. He squeezes harder, just enough to make her go limp onto the floor. Barely gasping for air, Raul uses one finger to move the black hair from her face. As he lifts his wife into his arms, he tells her he loves her.
Locks of long hair dangles along with his each and every step, sweeping the warmly colored plush carpet. In the bedroom, her tender breast was slipping from its place and Raul buries his face in the side of her neck, kissing her greedily. He lays her on the giant bed and removing his silk tie, he turns to close the bedroom door. The children never heard Sadie's whimpers or her slight screams. Raul was a brutish man.
Whips, ropes and chains play a part in his fantasy and Sadie's begging only made him want to hurt and save her even more each time. He would have the maid come from her sleeping quarters early in the morning to tend to the children and his wife. Sadie would need her rest for the next few days. This time he was worried he may have hurt her too bad. Next time he won't chain her neck so tight, that way he won't have to do CPR on her; it left bruises on her chest. He hated reminders of his jealousy and she hated him, the reminder himself.
Sadie arose that morning to the crow of her rooster, Francisco, perched on the eastern fence, which provided a barrier between livestock and her home. The home she decorated, which provided no shelter from her sense of solitude. The warm calico beige walls with chocolate trim crown molding only represented the lash of fury she had often endured.
Suddenly the lush green plants, calm and serene seemed out of its elements in her home. Agony hung like the potted Ivy's in the reading room window. Anger designed her home and sorrow accentuated the finishing touch.
She seldom spoke, except to her children, three-year-old Sasparilla and fifteen-month-old Raul Jr, whom she nicknamed RJ. Sasparilla crept in the shadows of her mother, often speaking in a whisper, even when her father was not around. RJ was never without hitting Sadie when she tried to discipline him or when she refused him a small delight. Through RJ, she often thought to herself, Raul will
come home one day and kill her. Her last stay in the hospital was a narrow escape, but at least RJ survived.
Once upon a time, Sadie loved looking in the mirror, but now she looked as haggard as she felt, so she didn't bother with the diamond hair clips Raul had given her for her last birthday. She felt that diamonds symbolized the torture chamber from which she wanted escape. She really didn't want Raul dead, only to change and she didn't even have to courage to come up with a plan. Her thoughts were his intuition; she'd only play a role in her own demise.
With the rinsing of Wella Balsam from her long wavy Caspian black hair, she washed that thought out of her mind too. The lather of English Lavender soap bubbles found its way down the crest of her sepia bosom. With grace, she caressed the soap and gently glided her hands down her long legs.
The smell of Narcissus graced her every move. Raul had landscapers from all over South America interviewed. Raul would go through great measures to ensure Sadie would have beauty always surrounding her. She more than deserved it; after all, he had taken the one thing she truly loved away.
Still Sadie tried her best to fit into Raul's fast world, but for her, taking time to smell the flowers was more important than bars, beer and false accusations. Her husband proved to his employees, friends and Sadie that she belonged to him, and that he would kill any one that felt otherwise. Her beauty brought attention she never enticed and no matter what, she would have to pay.
Only the walls of her home could keep the secrets of screams, blood and tears. If only she could see her brother, Sas, she might find a little joy in her corner of the world.
Sometimes, the only one who made her smile was out in the woods, deep and dark, hopefully, shaded by an old and wise tree, in the pleasure of the fairy ferns and wild flowers.
She'd whisper lullaby's tonight as she did every night for three past three years in hopes that the midnight rider would whisk them away to the spirit her grandmother, Augustine often told her about as a child.
How she wished to see what's left of her family, maybe Raul could be caught in a good mood and allowed her a mini vacation to North Dakota. How will she ask him for a few days away from him?
From the dusky blue drapes in her bedroom, Sadie would look at Isabella and Sasparilla, blueberry baskets in hand trailing along with Raul to the creek. She knew soon they would be back with blue faces and purple stained cheeks. The berries and Raul's fresh caught fish would make a hearty dinner.
Sadie had spent the weekend making calico sundresses for them. The older servant did the smocking by hand while Sadie struggled with the sewing machine to do hers and decided, one weekend, she would have to learn to smock by hand. It always came out prettier by hand.
Once she had made native Cherokee outfits of bull and cowhide, and assorted beading and adornments for Isabella's' hair. Raul belittled Sadie by detesting the culture of her Native and African ancestry. After that she had taken the hand painted garments and tucked them away with all the other things she'd listen to Raul rant and rave about, into a little wooden Brazilian trunk with a simple solid gold lock.
Tears were stored in that trunk; memories of a time she wished would come back.
In her bedroom, she gazed at Isabella's photo of her dropping her ice cream cone onto the dirt road and crying. Isabella, like Sadie, also chooses to wear no shoes; they liked to feel of coolness of the earth under foot.
Often it was Isabella speaking only Spanish who'd come in during one of Raul's violent whirlwinds and calm the atmosphere. Raul's attention was diverted to Isabella who would often question him the way three year olds do. Her tears broke him from a cruel brute to a compassionate man. The covering of her ears when
he'd yell at her mama often showed him his own father, whom he did not want to be.
Isabella's watchful eye upon him kept him away from Sadie, so Sadie held close to her baby.
Isabella was the apple of Raul's eye and the very life of Sadie's distraught heart.
Sadie's quietness startled Raul as she stood holding his lunch. His face told her to run but she didn't, she couldn't.
"Damn chu, Sadie!" he told her with malice.
The tears started to pool in Sadie's eyes. As she started to back away, she knocked the phone from its place on the three-legged table behind her.
Straining under the two hundred fifty pound arm press, he did a final lift. Metal hitting metal heavily left a ringing in the ear that only added to his edginess. The serving platter fell to the floor as Raul screamed at her. The phone prompted to hang up and try again in Spanish.
Isabella had grown accustomed to the daily hollering and her mother's more than occasional beatings. She loved her mama's purple eye makeup even though
Sadie moved away when she tried to touch it. Sadie would barely allow herself to be looked at; shame does that once in a while. Sometimes Raul felt compelled to kill her, but always stopped short of it. This time he would, he needed to do it, just like he needed a surplus of whores and whiskey.
When he finally lifted her from the plush crimson spotted white carpet, disgust overwhelmed him in seeing the distorted, confused face. Hate lifted a ten-pound dumbbell. Anger was the force behind the back swing that met resistance. Soft yelps of a dying cry escaped Isabella's pout red lips.
Mr. Angus Davenshire
Most secretaries are slim, tender, tan eye catchers that look spicy in a skimpily clad bikini. Yet, efficiency is always a concern. Withered hands gracefully stroke each key translating dictation. Calls are promptly made, appointments set and canceled, flowers delivered on anniversaries' and birthdays without any mention to senior partners trying to forget.
Opening and closing statements and noon dining instead of golf with local politicians only added to the name of Davenshire and Associates. Only the most promising corporate scandals with the most promising outcomes solicited Angus.
Seldom did he dine out. Angus was not one whom sought out the company of other high profiles, delivery to his office sufficed.
Griffith forever seemed to be holding his breath, like a volcano under the pressure of a tight neck collar. Maybe if he loosened his tie, the red in his face would drain or circulate or something. Griffith always seemed to make fresh steamed lobster undesirable to the palate of Angus. But never would Griffith become a partner Angus would regret bringing on board. His desire to win successfully and doing so afforded Angus the secret luxuries of Thailand's unspoken fleshy favors. Griffith had his own secrets.
.
Slumber came easy the first two nights to Nadine. By the third she tossed and turned, by the forth she sat in the Brazilian airport awaiting her connecting flight back to Maine.
She tried calling home but there was no answer, which only added to her concern for her daughter, Ava. Two flights had already departed for Mexico and hers would be there soon. She'd land in New York and connect onto another to Maine.
Flashing lights disappeared into the early morning skies; hugs were exchanged between some departing tourist and possible family members, blocking the view of her incoming flight. She finished her bottle of water and boarded, taking a window seat. The plane was small, cramped, and smelled of cheap air freshener and peanuts.
Angus lingered in the back of her mind the way clouds lingered after a storm.
Nadine's mother had dealings with Angus regularly. Nadine would try to hide behind her mother to keep Angus from sizing her up. She knew her mother hated her and didn't have the slightest idea who her father was, other than saying he was a nigger. Her mother never let her forget that black was not beautiful; it was a curse. To Nadine her mother was the evil one, she'd beat her for everything, even being born, but being married to Angus was worse. To him she was his slave. Yet, this trip represented a little trust of deserved freedom.
Nadine loved the clothing she'd carried with her on the trip, for she knew soon she'd be back on the plantation, wearing the relics of slaves, no shoes, hair always loose, never to be bound together. His home always maintained and himself habitually re-enacting a time long ago in the secret basement cellar.
There she picked pick real pot grown cotton and bathed in a tin tub in front of Angus, she also bathed him. She called him "Master" and cried when he punished her. He'd beat her and make physical demands of her body. She'd spent most of her first years with Angus locked up in the cellar, reading the historical accounts of that era, a time that passed years ago; memorizing southern recipes, awaiting Angus's oral quizzes. There in the cellar, Angus was master, reverend and sometimes husband.
Inside that cellar was another hidden room, a chamber of torture in which she, nor sound, could escape once locked in. Starvation had broken her, fear kept her.
Naturally, to the small, mommies can accomplish amazing feats. Pacifying the cries of the young is sometimes overwhelming. The darker side of parenting is usually something you would apologize to a little one for.
Can a seven year old wear permanent bluish-green and purple eye shadow on one eye?
Oh yes, and then there is always an Uncle Tommy at birthday parties that makes you sit on his lap or takes you to a once again familiar place of secrecy.
Sometimes we break under the strain of motherhood and leave footprints in areas only proper fitting clothing would provide.
Emergency rooms do not always the regard the fear of pillows even near a face, with phantom motherly love.
Darkness is reminiscent of removing any crayon darker than brown. Those colors deserved a breaking of beauty, the way you break a wild black stallion.
Patience was never a value, fault was. Dark colors bring bad luck and your bad luck. At least that's the way Nadine's mother felt, all she needed was fifty dollars for the coke and heroin, not a nigger baby. Selling her would be better than just leaving her somewhere. Hell, one day came fifteen years after Nadine's birth.
Angus was not going to give credit favors and you're already over three thousand in debt, his victims were found accidentally from time to time. Nadine was more than considered a fine instrument of God's divine handiwork. Nadine was all and even more than Angus could ever imagine in owning his own slave.
Negotiating with Nadine's mother was a cinch; she wanted to be rid of the girl and had often made it very clear that offers would only be accepted from the highest bidder.
The first night, Angus would have his way with the girl. He would make her, he would break her, and he would take her.
Nadine was wild, hard to tame at first, but Angus had his ways of making her comply. It didn't take long for Angus's methods to take effect. Nadine became more fearful and more compliant. Angus kept her locked away; solitude can drive even the sanest of men to go stark raving mad. It allows the mind to feed of nothing but itself, and that is a very dangerous thing. But for Nadine the method imposed a reversed effect. After twenty-six days with little or no food, water and light of any kind; not even a human voice, Nadine surrendered all resistance and found upon her release, Angus to be a savior.
He opened the little cubicle door and found Nadine either in a deep sleep or unconscious.
As he dragged her golden tan, naked body into his arms, he balanced her, carried her to the tin tub of warm soapy water and gently placed her inside. The venting system inside the cubicle kept her stench to a minimum. The floor grate acted as a refuse system for bodily waste.
He used a soft loofah sponge to gently wet her hair and clean her face. The water felt good to Angus on her cedar colored skin. He soaped her and bathed her inside and out, allowing his fingers to explore every part of her soft body.
Nadine started to awaken. She cringed at the sight of the handsome face that gazed tenderly upon her. His hand released the loofah and his finger with all the precision of a blind man found its way down her long delicate neck, between her soft plump breast and down into the water, causing her to tense. Tears came forth as he lifted her out of the tub and onto the little cot of straw. Gently he kissed her sweet neck, sucking softly. He slid himself down her body and delighted himself in chewing mouth size mounds of flesh, she moaned as he tightened his warm tongue around her nipples, he held it and squeezed it, licking and lapping. Tears fell as he went back to kiss each one. She lay there as his body warmed on top her; she felt his manhood grow between her satin soft thighs, rubbing up and down between the wet lips that throbbed in agony as her body betrayed her. He glided himself to steer his hot bulging, dripping pipe between her breasts, back and forth. A small cry passed her lips as she felt his member tracing the fold of her lips, salty wet as he tried to place the head in her mouth, Nadine held fast. With his large hand, he slowly and deceitfully ran it down her arm and he pinched her nipple with all his might, her scream curdled his very own blood. He whispered to her to open her mouth, as she did, slipped his whole eight inches down her throat and pumped until she gagged and choked, he pulled out a little to allow her to swallow, again he thrust himself deeply, using himself to strangle her with deep throat thrust, in a maniacal frenzy. She threw up. Angus took Nadine's hair in both hands and lifted her head to meet him as he shoved so deep that his orgasm was so strong it stiffened his body as his knees buckled under him and he fell into her throat; he breathed heavily while he watched his lot flow out of her nose. She had stopped breathing. Angus simply slapped her until she came around. Angus went to get a drink and run a cool bath. He came back and stared at Nadine, her breathing was labored. Angus did a line of powder with another glass of rum. Nadine will scream in torment tonight. He had stood and lit the hurricane lamp and turned off the main lighting.
Nadine was weak; she closed her eyes as he grinned down at her trying to use her hands to cover the most intimate parts of her body.
Nadine understood her position in his house and in his life. There was no wedding, only an "I do" in the presence of the Justice of Peace.
His drinking only added strength to his British accent. He was calmly brutal in his acts of sexual assaults.
Angus never raised his voice outside a courtroom; he never had to. The clinching of his teeth made simple requests seem like a subtle threat.
Once he understood she realized she had no one to turn to, he would start allowing her to travel with him.
Inside his society, whispers told of a wife as beautiful as the moon back washing the sea, whom traveled abroad in search of various antiques. Gatherings usually called for the women to hen pick tales of fantasies whispered in her ears by the famously handsome and exquisite Angus, women only dared to be held by Angus Davenshire.
Seldom was Nadine in attendance of any of her husband's affairs, guest graced upon her approach briefly, leaving young men, husbands and widowers with their mouths agape. Breath taking was her beauty and women softly gossiped behind waving fans and flutes of champagne.
Oh yes, Angus was the toast of the town, well traveled, educated, and an avid collector of peculiar things. Angus took his privacy seriously, more than a few were left more curious than not.
Nadine's pregnancy came as no surprise. Angus would monitor the pregnancy and deliver his child. A child conceived out of deceit is born in secrecy.
No one paid attention to the girl child in the maid's arms at the memorial service for Nadine, only to the weeping killer seated alongside her coffin. No more would Nadine have to suffer her mother's mistakes, now her daughter Ava would suffer her mistakes.
For Angus this meant that his secret could never be told from the grave.