Part XXXIV: A Reunion

Harry Guakomoli set the box down and locked the door separating the shop from the outside world. He then proceeded over to Yvette.

"Is it safe there? I got an autographed photo of Charo in that box."

Yvette said nothing and instead walked through the beads. Our hero followed, keeping his eyes on her posterior. From out of his peripheral The Guak noticed they were in a hallway with cheap wood paneling. The chocolate-colored honey entered a room on the right. A pair of shriveled bird's feet...a chicken's?...wrapped in black ribbon hung from the upper part of the door jamb. The Guak entered the room behind her.

Against the back corner of the room was a hospital bed. In the bed sat a large black woman. Late fifties, maybe early sixties, by the looks of her. She was bald save for a few clumps of nappy gray hair. The woman was in a lavender cotton night gown that was in serious need of washing. A chubby hand gripped a remote control. Several violet candles situated around the room on shelves were lit. A white lace cross, with another cross made of green felt inside of it, hung on one of the walls.

The corpulent invalid hit one of the buttons on the remote, and it was then our hero noticed a flat-screen TV on a small metal table to his left.

"I never thought I would see you again," she said to The Guak.

"Yvonne?" our hero asked as he took a step closer to her.

"That's close enough!" she snapped. Her tone froze The Guak in his tracks. "I don't know how you found out about me, but I'm not happy to see you, boy."

"Say the word, Momma, and he's gone," Yvette said as she put herself between the bed-ridden woman and our hero.

"No. Let's just get this over with," Yvonne replied.

"You said you've seen me before, but I don't remember you," stated The Guak.

"That's because you were just a baby," she responded. "A baby I bought from a woman for $2100 thirty-three years ago."

"Wait, what?! You bought me? From what woman? Not from my mother; she's dead."

"Your...your mother?" Yvonne asked as a look of horror spread across her countenance.

The fortuneteller's eyes rolled up into her head showing only their whites. She began to convulse. Her uncontrollable shaking caused her bed to shake as well. The flames from the candles flickered as a cold breeze from an unknown source blew through the room chilling The Guak to the bone.

"Momma? MOMMA!" Yvette screamed.

"Three-four-three! Three-four-three! Three-four-three!" Yvonne's voice was loud and piercing as she repeatedly shrieked the numbered sequence.

"Um...does this happen often?" asked our hero.

"Three-four-three! Three-four-three!"

"What?!" Yvette asked, a look of panic on her face. "What the fuck do you think?"

Yvonne's seizure intensified. Each spasm seemed to propel her corpulent body into the air. Her daughter rushed to her side.

"Shh, Momma. Shh." Yvette said soothingly in an attempt to calm her mother.

Yet the elder woman did not calm herself down. She started frothing at the mouth, white watery foam oozing out of the orifice. Yvette turned her attention to The Guak.

"Go wait in the lounge," she sternly ordered our hero.

"Maybe I should help you roll her onto her stomach so she doesn't choke on --"

"GO WAIT IN THE MUTHAFUCKIN' LOUNGE!" the younger of the two women screamed.

"Fine."

The Guak left Yvonne's room and returned to the lounge as commanded. Hip hop continued to blast from the sound system. The vocalist was the same woman as before, but then it was a ballad about missing her "boo." Who the fuck's Boo? our hero thought to himself. Boo Radley? Who's Boo Radley? He plopped down on the couch and pulled out his phone. Our hero stared at it. The bells and whistles bothered him. There was so much going on.

Another track started. A loop of a watered down hard rock guitar lick provided backing music as the lady rapper boasted of being the "queen of all dem bitches." The Guak did his best to tune it all out.

It was not until Yvette sat down beside The Guak on the couch did he realize the honey was back in the room.

"How's your mom?" The Guak turned to her and asked.

"She's fine for now," Yvette replied. "She stopped with the frothing as soon as you left."

Our hero nodded.

"Who are you?" she asked with the voice of an interrogation. "And who's your mother?"

"I'm The Guak. And I have no idea about my mom. I came to Yvonne to ask about her. About where I came from."

"As you can see she's out of her fucking mind," Yvette said. "It all started six months ago."

"What happened six months ago?"

"The fuck if I know," she answered. "Momma began to chant something. What was it? 'Twenty-one were bred now twenty are dead.' Over and over again for, like, a day. Then it's 'All twenty-one are all undone.' Just once and fell asleep. For almost a whole fucking week. Nothing I did would wake her. After that it was all quiet. Really quiet. She looked uneasy but wouldn't say a word. Not just about that, but she was completely fucking silent. Three months ago she sat up and screamed. Then she...she...what do you call it when you breathe really fast? Like when you're scared or anxious?"

"Hyperventilate?" The Guak answered.

"Yeah, that's the word. She was mad hyperventilating and then she grew quiet again. After that she was back to normal. But she refused to see any clients. The entire time Momma didn't give a single reading. I tried, but I don't have the gift. Not like she does. Mine's good for hustling. For grifting marks but not for repeat bidness. For years the only way you could see Miss Yvonne was by appointment. Walk in off the street? Too fucking bad. Now, it's gone. All fucking gone.

"But you. You're the key. Or your dead momma is. Or both. That's why I'm gonna make sure she talks to you, and we're all gonna set this shit straight. She can't live this like no more. Me neither. What did you say your name was again?"

"I'm The Guak," replied The Guak.

"Heh. 'The Guak,'" Yvette said and shook her head. "Even white boys gotta act all street and make up code names."

Our hero merely shrugged.

"Give me your digits, and when she's ready to talk, really ready, we'll call you."

"I can't," said The Guak sounding dangerously close to apologetic. "I just got this phone."

Yvette was less than impressed and sighed.

"Fine, Guak. Call my number, and we'll get it off my phone."

Making calls on his new phone was one of the few things he had figured out how to do. Yvette gave our hero her number, and he dialed it. A cellphone on the table lit up with blue lights and vibrated. No ring tone. The mocha-hued beauty picked up the phone and checked out the display screen.

"What game you playing?" asked Yvette still staring at the screen.

"What?"

"6-6-6-8-4-3-4-8-2-5," she read the incoming number aloud.

"I...I don't know," replied our hero. "It was a gift."

"I won't let Momma do the calling then. She would flip the fuck out."

Yvette stood up and straightened her skirt. Our hero looked up and couldn't help but stare at her perfect breasts for a few seconds before standing up himself.

"I would say it's been a pleasure meeting you, 'The Guak,' but I'm not sure it was. You have my number, but you are not to call me. I make the contact. You dig?"

"I dig," our hero replied with a nod. "Do I get a kiss good-bye?"

"You wish."

The Guak did wish, but that particular wish did not come true. Our hero unlocked the door, grabbed his box of worldly possessions, and exited Miss Yvonne's Psychic Readings.Par

Part XXXIII: Miss Yvonne's Psychic Readings

Harry Guakomoli stood across the street from the address Dinah had given him the night before. The lady with the black hair and vanilla-scented cigarettes told him someone named "Yvonne" could shed some light on his past, and she should be in this building. It seemed likely; an inactive pink neon sign in the window read "Miss Yvonne's Psychic Readings."

"Really?" The Guak said to no one. "Crystal balls and tea leaves are Dinah's idea of figuring out my past?"

Our hero looked to his right to see his cab driving away down the street. He figured since he was there, and now stranded, he should at least check this lead out. With his pine box of material possessions in tow he crossed the street. The Guak would have preferred to look inside the window first, but thick midnight blue curtains blocked his view. He opened the door and entered.

The room was dark, and it took a moment for The Guak's eyes to adjust. But our hero immediately recognized the aroma of marijuana and sandalwood incense, two scents the man disliked. Some over-produced hip hop song with a woman vocalist rapping that if someone wanted her "chocolate ass" that person better be prepared  to pay. The lady rhymesmith accepted cheddar, ice, furs, and Gucci. And lots of them.

Once The Guak's eyes adjusted he was finally able to discern the layout of the room. It was dimly lit by a pair of table lamps with red shades, giving the space a rosy glow. Two couches and an easy chair, all of which had seen better days, surrounded an oval table in the room's center. The walls were decorated with presumably arcane glyphs and symbols such as eyes, the palms of hands, stars, and crescent moons. Off to the side was a cheap wooden counter; its face adorned with a yellow banner with the words "CASH MONEY ONLY." An archway in the wall behind it, and another at the opposite wall, were decorated with several beaded cords that ended just shy of the floor.

A dark shape surrounded by a cloud of smoke sat on one of the couches. The Guak gave the shape a closer look. She was an attractive black woman. He guessed she was in her mid-twenties. A tight low-cut turquoise tank top revealed a copious amount of cleavage, her mocha-hued bosom drawing even more attention from a long amethyst-colored crystal, attached to a sliver chain around her neck, situated between her breasts.The Guak thought her legs were crossed, but it was hard to tell by the low flowing floral print skirt. Her dark brown, nearly black, hair was long and straightened. It reminded our hero of the way Ebonia wore hers when she was still answering to "Maxine."

"Shut the door, man," the woman said. "I'm smoking herb up in here."

"Oh," replied The Guak before doing what was requested of him. "Are you Yvonne?"

"You a cop?"

"No, but you already knew that."

"I did?"

"I'm assuming if you thought I was the fuzz you wouldn't still be smoking that joint."

She looked down at the roach clip in her hand. It gripped the tiniest nub of a joint. She took a long hit off the pot, revealing a large silver skull attached to a ring on her index finger.

"I like how you call pigs "the fuzz"...officer."

"I'm not a cop."

"Then what the fuck do you want?" the woman demanded to know. "White boys don't come here on a Sunday morning wanting their palms read."

"I'm here to speak to Yvonne," our hero asserted. "Are you her?"

"No, I'm her daughter, Yvette. Yvonne no longer entertains guests, professionally or otherwise. But if you leave a message I'll see she gets it."

As if on cue a loud shriek sounded from somewhere beyond the archway behind the counter. Yvette rolled her eyes and rested the joint in an ashtray on the table. She stood up and looked to our hero.

"Don't move. I'll be back," said the beauty. "Okay? Stay put."

"Got it."

The Guak watched Yvette as she headed toward the scream. He couldn't help but wish she was wearing something tighter and shorter than that skirt. He wondered if her bottom half was as nice to look at as the top. He wagered it was.

Our hero tried to overhear what was happening between Yvette and the mystery screecher, but the ungodly awful hip hop drowned out most of the sound save for some incoherent mumbling.

"WE'VE LOST ALL OUR BIDNESS, BUT HIM YOU'LL SEE?!" Yvette's yell finally provided enough volume for The Guak to make out what was going down.

"I TOLD YOU TO SHOW THE MAN IN!" another woman screamed in return. "DON'T BACK SASS ME, GIRL!"

A few seconds later Yvette stepped back back into the room and stopped behind the counter.

"I don't know what makes you so fucking special," she said to our hero through clenched teeth. "But she wants to see you."

"Yvonne?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Now lock the door and get in there."

"Can I leave this out here?" The Guak asked as he held up his box.

"Sure. Whatever."

Part XXXII: Gunther And The King Of The Zombie Men

Harry Guakomoli was eager to be wearing his shit kickers again, particularly after all that bullshit he went through to get them. That dimwitted slob of a groundskeeper had proven to be a real pain in the ass. It had taken The Guak several minutes to get it through the man's head that an assortment of his mementos had been buried in his stead, and our hero wished to retrieve them.

Gunther lead The Guak to an equipment shed and after following him for a few minutes our hero wished he had insisted the groundskeeper put on his pants. Gunther opened the door to the shed and flipped on a light switch. He refused to enter the shed, instead merely pointing toward the entrance. The Guak shrugged and stepped inside. He noticed a number of shovels leaning up against the back wall. The Guak smiled and walked over to them. He was debating which one would meet his needs the best when he was hit in the back of the head with a rake by Gunther. Gunther was a large man who earned his living by undergoing strenuous labor. His strength was enough to level any man, But The Guak was not just any man.

"Ow," The Guak uttered before turning around.

"WALKIN' DEAD WALK NO MORE!" the groundskeeper yelled  as he lunged toward our hero with a pair of hedge clippers.

The Guak was barely able to sidestep the oaf's attack. He shoved the man from behind, and Gunther wiped out. The groundskeeper had just enough time to roll onto his back before The Guak was on top of him.

"What the fuck was that?" The Guak growled.

"YOU'RE SMARTER AND STRONGER THAN THE OTHERS!" Gunther yelled. "ARE YOU THEIR KING?"

"Am I whose king?" our hero asked . Nothing was ever simple, and that was really starting to burn his britches.

"THE ZOMBIE MEN!"

"Ugh." The Guak was not in the mood for this shit. Apparently the time our hero had taken to explain his situation was wasted on the hayseed. "Do you know where the Harry Guakomoli plot is?"

Gunther was a simple and slow-witted buffoon, but The Guak was blown away by the groundskeeper's amazing ability to remember every single plot in the cemetery. Gunther lead our hero through the rows upon rows of graves until The Guak laid his eyes upon his own memorial.

The tombstone was slate-colored marble with light gray flecks. A skull, complete with crossbones, adorned the top of its face. Our hero thought it was one of the most kick-ass things he had ever seen. Below the skull was etched "Harry 'The Guak' Guakomoli." There were no years given. No date of birth. No date of death. But the headstone proclaimed The Guak was both "Hero of The Barrio" and "Hero of The People." It was touching. It was also fucking surreal, eying one's on grave. Even if the body was actually not buried in the ground.

"CAN I GO NOW?" the groundskeeper broke the silence by asking.

"Do you always have to fucking yell?" our hero responded with a question of his own. His gaze was still fixated on his tombstone.

"I CAN'T HELP IT! IT'S A CONDITION!"

"You tried to run me through with garden tools, so, no, you can't go. Start digging."

Gunther was not happy with The Guak's answer, but he decided it was best not to trifle with the king of the zombie men (The Guak opted not to correct Gunther of his theory). The groundskeeper did as he was told and stabbed the earth with his favorite shovel, Sheila III, and proceeded to dig up our hero's grave. Some time later, well after dawn had come and gone, the wooden box that contained The Guak's most prized possessions was revealed.

Our hero slowly slid on his boots and laced them up. God, it felt good. The Guak walked to the graveyard's exit, his box in tow. He wondered if the hack and his cab were still waiting for The Guak per his instructions.

And Gunther was left admiring his new pair of gray Velcro sneakers. It wasn't until the king of the zombie men was gone that he noticed they were caked in dried blood.