Saturn’s Day
Johnsons 4:
Jamal Johnson followed the instructions of the man in the
green vest as he directed him to park on the grass next to the white Peugeot.
Jamal afforded himself enough room for a comfortable exit on the driver’s side.
He idled the Grand Marquis and paused the “Miracles and Manifestations”
podcast.
Jamal took a moment to reflect on his unusual circumstances.
Two weeks ago, he was having a great time in the Bahamas. That respite was
followed by disturbing but incomplete knowledge, the need to return home and the
inability to do so. Upon coming home his cousin, Junior, would inform him of an
attempt on Curtis Cream’s life orchestrated by his toxic wife, Katrina.
Jamal could be shopping for small person golf clubs with his
son, who had outgrown his first set and was not yet ready for standard clubs.
He wanted to be on hand and talk to the salesman and maybe procure that Super
Cool small person driver that was a game changer for kids in Mitchell’s age
group. The evening could have been spent eating pizza, drinking iced tea and
watching the Houston Cougars viewed on his new mega-definition wallscreen.
Instead of father and son fun, Jamal was about to enter a
children’s Halloween season costume birthday party. He felt awkward attending a
twelve-year-old’s party without an accompanying child, or even his
bridge-between-worlds wife, Cleopatra.
The Hi-Comfort Stick of Butter was unfamiliar to his torso
as was the bulletproof vest and holstered Beretta. Jamal and Cleopatra owned
six M-9’s. One for each Grand Marquis,
one for each office and his and her nightstand models. He liked to have his
“babies” nearby but he did not like carrying them on his person.
The Kevlar vest worn underneath his costume was more
restrictive than he had remembered. Thankfully, the weather was cold with the
possibility of rain showers. If he got too hot or too dizzy, he could step
outside for a few minutes.
Maybe, Jamal reflected, maybe if he had gotten more sleep
this week, maybe he would have come up with a better idea. What exactly would
he do tonight to protect Curtis Cream? Shoot the Laughing Caped Zombie upon
arrival? How would he explain that one? Should he shield Curtis’s body when
Curtis probably wore a Super Cool Extra Thin under his Superman get up? Wouldn’t
he welcome another chance to monetize a life-saver? Even without advance
knowledge Curtis was more prepared than Jamal would ever be.
Whatever his protective value might be, Jamal could not stay
away from ground zero. He had to be on hand. He had to show up. He had to see
things unfold with his own eyes. Jamal would improvise. Improvisational events
shaped everyone’s lives. If not ready for anything else, Jamal was ready to
improvise.
Jamal delicately carried the gift album wrapped in pearl
white chiffon-tissue capped with an oversized red bow. The contents included
five custom-made gift cards that bore Sinbadia Cream’s name mounted on plastic
that bore images of Jamal, Cleopatra and Mitchell. He rang the front doorbell
and was greeted by Brittnecia, who was—like her sister, Jasmine—dressed like
medieval royalty.
They had met in passing a couple of times and Jamal took
this opportunity to schmooze. A police officer who also served as a bodyguard,
a nanny and a virtual big sister to the Cream girls was not someone to snub. “I
heard so many great things about you,” and offered to sponsor her should she
care to join the Cimmaron Society.
Brittnecia smiled and blushed and demurred and seemed
pleased that the doorbell concluded the conversation. Jamal took stock of his
surroundings. The spacious house, no longer subjugated to the utility of daily
living, had taken on a convention hall flexibility. He stood in what was once a
living room that gave way to what was once a dining room that to a Food
Channel-sized kitchen that in turn was adjoined by a step-down enclosed patio
that ran the entire length of the house.
The living room and patio had a North/South Axis but the
kitchen and patio were East/West rectangles. This gave the kitchen two southern
entrances, one from the dining room and one from the hallway, each entrance
divided by a thick wall. It was at the union of the kitchen and dining room
that Curtis set up shop.
Curtis had arranged two foldout tables end to end to create
a Last Supper recreation with Curtis clad in fitted Superman suit, seated where
Da Vinci had Jesus sit. He was accompanied by twelve men and women dressed as
apostles. Jamal observed that two of the apostles were in wheelchairs and cared
for by attendants dressed in starch white nursing uniforms. Jamal had
recognized them as DEA agents who had been badly burned by a flame thrower in a
raid lead by Curtis Cream last summer.
Jamal approached the table to pay respects to Curtis. There
was a line of a half dozen people waiting to chat with the Messiah nut no one
made an effort to talk to the apostles. The disciples did not talk much among
themselves. That sat calmly and stared blankly, each fitted with a peel-off name
tag mounted over the left breast. Curtis noticed an Apostle named Vicky and
another named Steve and another named Kyle. Suddenly he was touched on his
right arm.
“Jamal Johnson, is that you?” Came a loud but soft, lilting voice. Jamal
turned to see Katrina dressed as Ms. Purple Goose. She grabbed both of his
hands and moved close to Jamal. She smiled a broad smile and being as tall as
Jamal, she planted her nose close to his.
There was no facial contact but Jamal felt her parallel
closeness in his chest, a closeness that could be detected through costume and
clothing and Kevlar. Being on the other end of that piercing, crippling stare,
Jamal instantly understood the inner worlds of both Curtis Cream and Walter
Peacock. “Are Mitchell and Cleopatra here?”
“Mitchell is being punished,” Jamal answered falsely.
“Punished?” Katrina screamed as she released his hands and
stepped away. “You need to find another way to discipline your son!” she yelled
loud enough to get everyone’s attention.
“My daughter is being punished because you did not allow her
good friend, Mitchell, to attend her only twelfth birthday party!” The
denunciation was furious but brief. It concluded with Mrs. Purple Goose
grabbing Stick of Butter’s right hand and tugging him along for a tour of the
party house.
Jamal was impressed with the detail. Every room was
festooned with streamers and balloons and the walls were plastered with posters
and pictures of Sinbadia. Annie Oakley Sinbadia, Viking Sinbadia, Star Trek
Sinbadia...a bit overdone in Jamal’s eyes but he could that the décor was
appreciated by the customers. Upstairs presented smaller rooms where female
clowns made balloon animals and performed magic tricks. There was a karaoke
room at the end of the hall where two costumed girls performed a duet for the
camera-happy parents.
Downstairs featured a TV room where most of the adults had
congregated. There they watched an array of screens, most of which displayed
college football games. It adjoined an even larger game room that was lined
with computer screens and loaded with popular electronic games. The basement also had an adultish billiard
room, an industrial sized laundry room and a storage area fenced off with
chicken wire. Most of the kids huddled in either the game room or were outside
riding ponies and frolicking in the bouncy house and partaking in the
kid-friendly buffet.
Katrina led Jamal back to the main floor and walked him into
the kitchen. She opened a cabinet door and removed a glass-covered dish. “I
know you appreciate great brownies, Mr. Johnson,” she said as she extended the
plate to him. “These are the best on Planet Earth,” she stated sincerely.
With one mitt clutching the ballyhooed confection and the
other firmly held in Katrina’s velvet clamp of a hand, Jamal was ushered back
to the living room and it was there that he first sampled the brownie. It
boldly surpassed the hype and Jamal closed his eyes and briefly stood in
heaven. He savored his first bite, took a taste and turned his gaze on Curtis.
His receiving line grew longer as his apostles sat in bovine silence.
Katrina let out a gasp and Jamal rushed to her side. She
stood as Lot’s wife staring at the front door where Brittnecia ushered in
another guest. Jamal identified the cause of her distress. Despite Curtis
Cream’s explicit bold print instructions, no one but Curtis was to wear a
Superman costume. Now, a second Superman had joined the party.
