The Desert Lion's True Colours Read Free

‘SPOT’. Every time Leon walked into the Club he would imagine how cool it would be to have his own place. It was a Thursday night and the SPOT was packed. As Leon walked past the line and up to the entrance he could hear the low din of the bass trying to tear its way outside the club doors. The doorman’ – who was called King spotted him approaching and raised his fist. Leon tapped the doorman’s fist with his and spoke first.
    ‘Yo, what’s good King?’
    ‘Nothing man,’ he replied in his distinctive southern drawl. ‘. . . just trying to keep the riff-raff and kids outer your boss’ spot.’
    Unwittingly, King’s word’s touched a nerve and Leon’s smile instantly vanished. ‘My boss… ?’ Leon questioned. ‘. . . yo check it. That boy Leon, don’t have no boss - got it?’
    Leon could tell King was a little thrown by his third person reference, so he took the pause as his cue to exit the conversation. Leon walked passed King’s 6ft 8, 270lbs frame without saying another word. Not paying any attention to the who or what was going on in the SPOT, Leon entered through the oversized double doors and took an immediate left, through another door that led to a flight of descending stairs. As he made his way down he could hear the melody of a different type of music playing from what was in the main part of the club. Halfway down Leon recognised the tune to be Buju-Bantons “ Boom Bye-Bye ”. When he got to the bottom of the stairs a tall muscle bound man in a pair of Converse, navy blue Dickeys and a white tank-top came out of the shadows and stood in between Leon and another door. Leon quickly noticed two things: one, this guy was new to Black’s security, which meant something was definitely wrong and two, the guy’s physique was - for lack of a better word - strange. He was well over 7'ft. His legs made up at least three quarters of his height but they were thin as stilts. His upper body however was abnormally large. Leon could see what could only be described as muscles, climbing on top of muscles to make room for more muscles. ‘ One word  . . .’ Leon thought ‘. . . steroids’. He felt sorry for the guy but at the same time strangely envious. The guy looked comical; he could easily have been a character from the Dragon-Ball Z cartoon.
    ‘Dang… ! I didn’t know the hulk had a black brother!’ Leon said smiling.
    The guy did not reply, just motioned Leon to assume the star position so he could pat him down. As his huge arms started their vigorous search Leon backed away.
    ‘Hey, hey, I don’t know you like that dawg.’ He said.
    The guy stepped back with an expression Leon took to mean ‘you interrupt me again and I’ll kill you’ .
    Leon let out an uneasy chuckle. ‘I’m only joking.’ He said.
    Without taking his eyes off the guy Leon retrieved his gun from its home, - tucked away in the crease of his back - and handed it over, handle first. The guy snatched the pistol out of Leon’s hands.
    ‘I know you gotta carry something else.’ he demanded. ‘Nahh man…’ replied Leon. ‘. . . Ask your boss. It’s just me and my P-266.’
    The guy looked at Leon suspiciously.
    ‘I don’t believe you.’ he said and immediately started to pat Leon down again.
    Feeling confident Leon had no other weapons on his person the tall guy turned to open the door behind him. A large cloud of smoke bellowed out, carrying with it the distinctive smell of “Black n’ Mild’s” and Weed. Leon followed the guy into the room and immediately heard the words, ‘So you finally decided to show, huh?’
    Leon looked towards the direction the words came from and was immediately drawn to the fully stocked bar - at least three meters out from the wall to his left. Behind the bars counter were glass shelves with mirrored backing and Crystal-cut tumblers with brown and clear liquor placed throughout. The main reason why it caught Leon’s attention was because the bar itself was a