It was a sad day for Houston’s Fifth Ward as the mourners filed into the small church to celebrate the life of Wasan Hart. The fallen soldier was respected in the streets and the untimely murder was felt by the entire community. The ceremony was held at the corner of Lyons and Bring Hurst, and the sky was full of clouds blocking out the sun. An already sad day turned out to be a gloomy one as well. There wasn’t a dry face in the building. Wasan’s brother, Sire, carried the biggest burden because he’d had to explain to their mother how he hadn’t protected his younger brother from an early grave, which broke a promise he had made to her years ago once she finally accepted their way of life. Being younger, Wasan had followed in the footsteps of his older brother and whatever Sire would have been … Wasan most likely would have been as well. The sad part was Sire chose the streets, but Wasan did not. He was just trying to be like his big brother and that got him to where he was ultimately—in a pine box.
As the middle-aged African American woman sang her heart out, people stood in line as her powerful voice flowed through the chapel. They were all waiting their turn to pay their final respects to the fallen soldier. Sire looked down the row and saw his family members grieve, but the worst feeling was seeing his mother crying. He had never seen her cry like she did on that morning. Her entire spirit was broken, and she was crying like a little baby. Although he rubbed her back and tried to tell her it would be alright, deep inside of his heart, he knew that it wouldn’t be.
“I need to see my baby,” his mother whispered in between her sobs. She was zoned out and not focused on one particular thing.
Sire immediately stood and then reached down to help her get up as well. They made their way to the front of the church. He walked up to the casket and looked down at his brother who seemed as if he were sleeping. He then turned his head away, not able to accept Wasan was gone. On the other hand, his mother hovered over him, kissing his forehead as she wept. She spoke incoherently as her tears flowed off her cheeks and onto the corpse. The sight was breaking Sire’s heart and he reached down to help his mother. His mother’s weight on the casket made it move slightly, which made people gasp in concern. Nobody wanted to see the casket collapse, so it was becoming an uncomfortable sight.
“Come on, Ma,” he said as he carefully pulled her up. She began to cry even harder as she sunk into his chest and bawled.
“It’s okay, Mama,” Sire whispered. His mom finally looked up at him and he could see the pain in her bloodshot eyes.
“You did this to him,” she whispered as she shook her head. A look of hatred began to form on her face.
“Ma, don’t say that. It’s going to be okay,” Sire said as he felt his eyes begin to water. Witnessing his mother break down was becoming too much for him and he was about to break.
His mother frowned at him and gently began to pound her fist on his chest. “No … No … No,” she yelled.
Sire finally let a tear of his own drop as he tried to bring his mother in for an embrace.
“It should have been you! You killed my fuckin’ baby!” she yelled and pounded on his chest more rapidly and with more force. Sire tried to embrace her again, but he was stopped with a fierce slap to the face that caused everyone in the church to gasp again. She followed it up by clawing at his face, and the scene became chaotic.
“You killed my baby! This is your fault! This is on you!” she screamed as she went crazy on him. Sire just stood there and took it as the guilt burdened his soul. He knew she was right and now it was too late to do anything about it. Things were getting so wild that the deacon had to come and pull his mother away as she continued attacking him. Still, Sire did nothing. No facial emotion or any words could express the feelings he had inside. He watched as more church members pulled his clawing, kicking mother away and he just looked on in a daze. There were mumbles and chatter going on in the church, but the only thing he could hear was his mother’s harsh words toward him. He looked over at his brother’s body and bent down to kiss his forehead. The feel of his dead brother’s cold, tough skin only reminded him Wasan was gone forever.
With his shirt disheveled and out of sorts, Sire walked down the aisle and could feel all eyes were on him. He felt alone in the world and that loneliness turned to rage with each step. He thought about seeing his brother getting murdered. He also thought about West bringing the bullshit his way. That was when he realized West wasn’t even there for support. Sire became even more enraged, knowing West was the cause of this entire ceremony and he didn’t have the decency to come kiss his mother and show his little bruh his proper respect before getting put into the ground.
As he pushed through the church’s heavy double doors and exited the chapel, Sire had a fire in the pit of his stomach. He was headed directly over to West’s home to get a few things off his chest.
“This feels fucked up, bro,” August said as he sat on the couch and sipped a small glass of cognac. West was directly across from him pouring himself another glass as well. August continued, “We should have gone,” just before downing the rest of his glass.
“You’re not using your head. There are certain things that aren’t in the interest of the company. We are all Sinclair Enterprises has since…” West said before he stopped mid-sentence, not wanting to bring up the death of their parents. The room grew awkward and West downed the cognac as he stood and took a deep breath.
“But come on, that’s family,” August said as he put his hands up.
“No, we are family! I don’t want to hear any more about it. I made a decision on behalf of our family and that’s that,” West said as he slightly raised his voice, something he rarely did.
He stood and headed to the kitchen. They were in the den of their parents’ estate and the luxurious place didn’t have the same feel as it usually had before their parents’ deaths. It had seemed cold ever since.
As West approached the kitchen, he heard the doorbell. He and August looked at each other in confusion.
“You were expecting someone?” West asked, with a slight frown.
“Nah,” August answered. West walked over to the door and looked through the peephole. It was Sire. West took a deep breath and opened the door. He immediately noticed the redness in Sire’s eyes and knew he had been crying.
“How are you holding up?” West asked, a look of concern spread across his face. Sire didn’t respond, just walked past him, letting himself in. He brushed shoulders with West, slightly rocking him to the side. Sire’s aggression was crystal clear.
West shook his head and closed the door behind him. Sire was going through some hardship and West didn’t hold the bump against him.
“What’s up, Sire?” August asked as he walked up to him and embraced him. Sire simply gave him a head nod and a quick hand slap.
“Hey, man, sorry about Wasan. I sent flowers to the church,” West said. Guilt was evident in his tone.
“Nigga, fuck them flowers. You should have been there,” Sire said as he stepped close to West, standing toe to toe with him. He was breathing heavily, his chest visibly moving up and down. He was heated. West understood his anger; however, he didn’t flinch or back down. He stared directly at his childhood friend while standing his ground.
“I couldn’t be seen at the funeral of a known felon. You know that! The media would have had a frenzy over that. You know how I gotta move. It’s politics, Sire,” West said calmly and firmly.
“I ain’t trying to hear none of that ‘politics’ shit. My mother had to put my brother in the ground today and you were a big cause of that. You sending flowers didn’t do anything for her. You shoulda came for support and to pay your final respect to baby bruh. My mom…” Sire said as his eyes began to water up. It wasn’t because he was sad; it was the rage creeping out and escaping through his eyes.
“I would have if I could. At this level of the game, the rules are different,” West said. August stood by and watched, knowing this conversation was deeper than his relationship with Sire. They had both come from the same neighborhood and had known each other since they’d been babies. He decided to stay out of it as they stood face-to-face. The tension was thick and the hostility was evident.
“This was your problem. Now it’s my problem. I’m going to find out who is behind this and when I do, I’m going to make them pay. I need to know everything you know and then some. I’m right there with you every step until we find out who is behind this. Whoever it is … they started a fucking war.”
Sire stepped back and around West as he headed for the door. “Don’t forget who you are,” Sire said as he reached for the doorknob.
“Nah, you make sure you remember who the fuck I am,” West said in an indirect manner. He was telling Sire something without actually saying it and Sire got the message loud and clear. He nodded and disappeared out of the house.