Free When Saint Goes Marching In by Tiana Laveen Page B

gave him the look of some sort of art critic or snooty aristocrat. He was rail thin, almost as tall as Saint, and had a regal air.
    George carried himself with such high regard that if he were dressed in a paper sack, he’d still appear majestic. Saint knew that George was used to the finer things in life and risked it all when he fell in love with an African woman from France. His family threatened to disown him, but he went along with his heart anyway and now he was close to celebrating forty-six years of marriage, with four children and seven grandchildren.
    “I see. I don’t really know what to say,” Saint said in dismay.
    “I know that it will be a huge undertaking. You’d essentially be over the entire operation, but look at it this way, Saint. We know how much you love your family. You would be able to train and teach others, then sit back to watch your fruits flourish versus doing all of the leg work yourself, like you have been. James works hard, very hard, but it is cerebral. He always gets his hands dirty but others now can get dirtier than he. Due to his age and just hours in the game, he is exhausted. These are changing times, Saint. He just can’t anymore. On one hand, things are improving. On another, they’re not.”
    “You’re right,” Saint nodded. “I see a lot of back and forth with the movement. The consistency isn’t there.”
    “There was a point in time when your average man knew right from wrong. Now, it’s like fighting against heartless robots or brainless zombies. There was a time when we could sit down with a group of people and after a few hours, leave at least respecting one another. We only got physical when it was necessary. Now, people bring guns to a hash-it-out session. Emotions are running too high. James is not in the loop the way he feels he should be and he brought you in because of our need for fresh, young blood. That young blood now needs to run the company instead of just being our mouthpiece.”
    Saint looked around the restaurant again and sucked his lip and his thoughts continued to race. He folded and unfolded his hands, glanced at George and shook his head in disbelief.
    “Saint, you were handpicked to not only do conferences. We would never bring someone like you into the trenches with only that in mind. You were hand selected to run the White Knights of the Round Table. This was based on your background, your career credentials, your charisma and the way you carry yourself. We needed someone dynamic who doesn’t back down from a fight but knows how to do it with dignity. We needed someone intimidating but approachable – someone intelligent but fun and sympathetic. You embody all of that.”
    “George, in all honesty, I don’t know if I’m the man for the job. I mean, I have my family, it’s a great responsibility and…”
    “You’re afraid of letting someone down. You’d have big shoes to fill. I understand. We’d already thought that out as well. Obviously, it is totally up to you but think about it long and hard. Besides, it won’t be happening right away anyway. There is still some time under our belts but it is approaching and we want you . We want you badly .”
    Saint’s rubbed his forehead.
    “Now, back to the topic,” George redirected. “I’m fascinated by your input and I’d like to know what you think of these.”
    He passed Saint photographs of the murdered victims. A wave of nausea hit Saint instantly. He could feel the intense rage brought against them. He shut his eyes and swallowed the bile that threatened to roll in reverse waves up his esophagus, burning as it coated his taste buds.
    “Are you OK? I know they are gruesome but…” George said.
    “No, no it’s not that, George. I’m just…” Saint stopped himself. “I’m just a little sick from the plane ride is all.”
    My God, this man truly is a maniac .
    Saint thought to himself as he looked at one man, a husband and father of three biracial children, with all