Saturn’s Day Johnsons 4:

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.