Maurice Broaddus - King Maker

Wheeling himself backward, not breaking his eyeline with Baylon, Dred stopped at his side door. He knocked three times and crossed his arms, waiting with a self-satisfied grin. A woman opened the door and posed in the entrance way, wrapped inside a long trenchcoat. From the judicious way she held the coat, she obviously wore nothing underneath it.

"She's straight-up jump-off, ready whenever you call and has no problem with whatever freaky shit you can imagine. Ain't that right, baby?" Dred ran his hand down her leg.

"You should know."

Dred left the two of them alone in his office for some privacy. Baylon shoved everything from the desk. She spread herself on it obligingly. Determined to lose himself in her, he dropped his pants and climbed on top of her.

And thought of Michelle.

Baylon had no desire to be an everyday brother. He was tired of living in other people's shadows. His paper wasn't as long as he'd like, definitely not enough to be his own man or have his name ring out. Which meant he never had the effect on women that a King, a Griff, or a Dred might've had. Griff was his boy, one of the few who remained by his side and he knew how Griff did: his deep penetrating stare as if you were the only object in his universe and he saw through you; the hard jaw set and resolute, ready for anything to jump off; his head tilted to the side, only slightly, endearing himself enough to make you lower your guard, followed by a quick wink to let you know he had you. It worked every time, girls and dudes alike. Which was why Baylon was convinced to bring him in. It was Griff's turn to step up since he was so convinced that he was ready.

"You vouch for him?" Dred was new on the scene. No one knew much about him. He had a way of being in the right place at the right time and assembled an efficient crew which allowed him to remain in the shadows. All anyone needed to know was that he had the right connect. His stuff was always on point. His cheap prices allowed him to carve out a huge swath of territory quickly, and no one questioned his main two enforcers, Night and Green.

"He's my boy." After the incident with Michelle, Griff was the only one who came around Baylon and he never forgot that. Not that his other friends set out to shun him; they just suddenly came up busy and involved in their own lives. Some afraid of what folks might say about them should they roll through. Griff didn't give a fuck about what anyone thought.

"He don't look like he played no football." Night was a hood rat through and through. He grew up in the Phoenix Apartments, from back when it was called the Meadows. It was all he knew. As soon as he got a little money, he moved his mom out to Allisonville, but he stayed at the Phoenix as if some invisible cord tethered him. Word on the vine told of Green practically raising the ambitious young thug before passing the crown onto him. Though no one understood why Green didn't simply rule himself.

"Did so. For Northwest," Griff said with the sting of injured pride.

"Shit. I thought you said he played high school ball. The only thing Northwest knows how to do is lose."

"Yeah, you won't hear him deny that. Other teams consider Northwest's homecoming game a home game." Baylon tried to keep the mood light. With so many brothers in a room all out to play hard, it wouldn't take but the wrong word, tone, or lingering stare to set someone off.

"What position you play?" Dred asked.

"Running back," Griff lied. He was a kicker, but they would have run him off the block for bragging about being a kicker. "What do I have to do? Shoot someone? Get beat up?"

"You run your mouth too much." Night's eyes bore a thousandyard stare into him.

"We work at a whole different level," Dred said. "You can put all that gangsta bullshit out of your head. We about real power."

"So he in?" Baylon asked.

"We'll see."

They walked toward Dred's black Escalade. It neared midnight, but the moon burned bright and full.

"What the-" A blindfold dropped over Griff's eyes. He swung his arms wildly, though Night smiled as he bucked. "Showed heart," he would say later.

"Be cool. You want to blow this?" Baylon whispered. Griff stopped struggling. "Once you in, you in. Ain't no backing out later."

The truck rumbled along, the four men riding without conversation. The sounds of traffic faded and soon the settling silence discomforted Griff enough for him to shift toward the door. His hand trailed along the hand rest to the door handle, assuring himself that he knew where it was. The car stopped. The other three doors opened and slammed shut. Furtive voices consulted one another, though Griff couldn't make out any words. Then nothing. Tense. Jackhammered heart. The sheen of uncomfortable sweat under his armpits. The door swung open and two sets of arms grabbed him and dragged him out.

They removed the blindfold.

They faced a ruined building, the stones of its wall remained as if a wrecking ball had been taken to it. At the center was a clearing where a fire raged, a series of snaps and sputters spat embers into the air. Shadowed figures took post, guarding against all intruders. Wearing a long black and purple robe, Dred threw powder into the flames. A cloud of smoke rose. The isolated puffs took form, morphing into a face which turned to Griff with a mocking gaze then dissipated.

Baylon escorted Griff to a small wall and sat next to Night. On the wall were scrawled a couple of names, only one of which wasn't crossed out. Rellik. Positioned in front of the wall, an oblation of food and drink on a table before a stone with a leopard pelt draped across it.

"The Etai Ngbe. The Leopard Stone," Baylon answered the unasked question.

"What is all this?" Griff asked.

"Call us the Egbo Society. We control the gangs, the drugs, the money. We've had our eye on you for a while and I vouched for you. We've invited you to join us."

"I don't remember asking."

"We don't ask." Baylon sounded strong and certain. Not to be questioned or denied.

Night wore a lowcut fade. He was one of them black brothers. Blue black. And as dark as he was, he had a darker knot above his left eyebrow in the shape of a crescent moon. Keloids ran along his big chest and huge arms, constantly itching. He rubbed lotion on them.

Dred began to speak, the purple and black robe draped around him like a poorly fitting hoodie. His face fell into its shadows. "Ours is the house without walls. We call upon Obassi to guide and protect us."

Baylon and Night joined with him. "Okum ngbe om mobik ejennum ngimm, akiko ye ajakk nga ka ejenn nyamm."

Dred lowered his robe to his waist. Two yellow rings circled each breast. Below them, a white ring stamped his middle. Underneath it, two more yellow rings; the yellow rings formed a square on his chest. His back had the same pattern emblazoned on him, with the color scheme reversed. Alternating yellow and white stripes ornamented each arm. Dred gestured for Griff to come before him.

"You want to run with us, you need to be marked. Take off your shirt," Dred said.

"What is it?" Griff asked.

"A sigil. It's like a name."

Dred lifted a small bowl and dipped his finger into it. He daubed each of Griff's arms with white chalk. From another bowl, he marked his forehead with camwood dye. Then lastly, from another bowl, he marked Griff with a yellow dye on his abdomen and back of his shoulders.

"And thus, the Ndibu are complete." Dred raised a goblet from the table. "Medraut."

"Owe," Night and Baylon said in unison. Griff stared at them.

Dred sipped from the goblet, handed it to Night.

"Barrant."

"Owe." Griff joined Dred and Baylon.

Night drank then handed the cup to Baylon.

"Balin."

"Owe."

Baylon handed the cup to Griff. He held it with a look of uncertainty.