Quasim II: King Inferno (Season Four: Inferno Gods #2)

16. Hassan King

Hassan King

Past (Inferno God)

Recommendation: Listen to Runaway Love by Ludacris

I really couldn’t stand the attending that I was working under today. Rotations in the emergency room were never my favorite shit. Adding the fact that the attending I was working with today didn’t really care for me. He looked at my tattoos twice and made some little snotty ass noise, letting me know he was judging me already.

A tall tatted black man with locs couldn’t possibly be a doctor. It was the exact reason why I was doing the shit.

I did it when it was hard.

I did it scared.

The only thing that mattered was that I did it.

My entire life, I had been told what I couldn’t do and who I would become. Hearing grown ass adults speak about your future and destiny like they knew better.

The same people sitting on the front porch nursing a drink before noon were the same people telling me that I wouldn’t become nothing. I had been lost since my mother decided she was done being a mother and skipped town. She left me with my father, who turned out not to be my father, so the only place to go was with my uncle.

I used to pray that my breath left my body when he knocked me in the chest, making it the last time that I was ever on earth. A child shouldn’t wish for death, and an adult shouldn’t ever put their hands on them, never making them feel safe.

When I was sixteen, I ran away from my uncle’s house in Delaware and hopped on the Chinese bus to New York City. I didn’t know what I was doing or where I would live, but I knew I couldn’t live with my uncle anymore.

I couldn’t continue living that way and listening to how I would be just like my mother. My mother abandoned me because she was too weak. She didn’t want to be responsible for the life she had birthed.

I would never be like her.

I spent months living on the streets, stealing food from the corner store to eat. There was never enough to eat, and finding somewhere to sleep was just as hard. I would ride the N train from the first stop to the last, hoping that I would wake up in time to switch trains, and repeat the process for some warmth and a few minutes of sleep between each stop.

One night on my way to the train, I stopped to look at a motorcycle. I’ve loved motorcycles since I was younger and made a promise that I would own one when I was older. I kept a folded picture of a Ducati that I wanted to own when I was able. It was often that I saw a bunch of bikes on that block and most of them always had flames on the side of them.

It only took a few months before I returned back to my uncle with my tail tucked between my legs. He didn’t give a damn that I was gone, which was typical. I finished school and then was given a job at the prison nearby.

My uncle worked there, so getting me in was easier said than done. I always knew this wasn’t my path. I didn’t want to work a few shifts, come home and drown my sorrows in a bottle of liquor or a beer. I always knew I wanted more, and I wanted to prove everyone wrong.

The boy with the mother that didn’t want him would be somebody someday. I worked at the prison while attending college. When I finished my second year in college, I transferred schools, and I was back on that cheap bus to New York with no plan in place other than getting an education.

This time, I didn’t have to worry about being put in foster care if I was picked up. For a few weeks, I slept on the trains before finding myself back on that block.

It was like that block was calling me and I needed to be on it. Honestly, I think I was supposed to be on that block the night that I was.

I was standing at that one bike that was always parked in the front. What a nigga would give to own something like this, and it was right there in front of me.

“You ain’t been around for a minute… came to get your wrist broke for trying to touch my bike?” I heard a low voice from behind me and turned to see a tall man with a short hair cut, sharp jawline, and menacing eyes.

“Nah, nah, nah. I really fuck with your bike.” I turned back to continue admiring the bike that was in front of me.

He had the sleeve of his shirt pulled up, and I saw the flames on his forearm that matched his bike. “Where you been?”

I laughed. “You say that like I’ve been gone only a few weeks. How do you even remember me? I ain’t never ran into you.” I turned to look at him as he stood there with his hands tucked into his pockets.

“Why else you think you were allowed in that store? I had a running tab in the store when you were coming around. All the shit you was over there stealing, I was paying for it.”

I was quiet.

“I can pay you back.”

He shook his head as he looked at me carrying my backpack on my back, and the duffle bag with my blanket tucked under the handles. “No you can’t.”

He called my bluff, and I became offended because I had about fifty dollars left from my last check. Hopping the train helped me save some money, and since I had been back, I hadn’t stolen anything. I was now legal and would sit up in a holding cell if I was caught.

I fasted intermittently throughout the day and had a big meal at night to save money. “Eventually, I can.”

“Name.”

“My…My name?” I slightly stammered, not expecting to have a full conversation. All I wanted to do was admire the bike in front of me.

“Hassan…. Hassan King,” I extended my hand, and he pulled his out of his pocket, and shook my hand. “Thanks for looking out for me. Not used to anyone having my back but me. I’m a man of my word; I will pay you back.”

“Where you stay?”

“Everywhere,” I chuckled.

He didn’t laugh.

“Homeless?”

I shoved my duffle bag further onto my arm. “I like to think of it as a nomadic lifestyle that I live. Very good for the economy and shit.”

He dug into his pockets and pulled out a knot of money, counting out a few hundreds and handed it to me. “Get you a room for the week… meet me here tomorrow.”

I looked at the money before taking it from his hands. “Why?”

He nodded toward the textbook that peeked out the open side of the duffle bag. “You trying to better yourself… I’m always going to offer a hand up to someone I see that’s trying. Meet me here tomorrow.” He got on his bike and put his helmet on.

“What time?”

“I’ll let you figure that out.” He nodded, putting the visor down and then sped off the block while I stood there holding the money, not knowing when I should show up.

Quasim had been there for me ever since. I came back that next morning at 7:00 a.m. and he was there. When he saw me walking down the block, he nodded in approval. When he found out why I was in college, he took me under his wing and made sure I was good. He got me a small studio apartment near my school and made sure I always had money. When I didn’t have school, I worked at Fern.

Quasim taught me how to ride bikes and bought me my first one. The man did all of that and never asked for shit in return. I was riding with the Inferno Gods so much that I eventually became one and would do whatever for the Gods.

We weren’t just a bunch of niggas on a bike, this was a family. Every God would lay down their life for the Inferno family. Quasim never had to say much, we were already riding because the loyalty was so thick.

“Hassan, are you even paying attention? Dr. Mercer says we have a pediatric case in triage.” One of the other medical students bumped my shoulder.

Our attending was already making his way down the hall, and we quickly ran behind him to catch up. The emergency room was my least favorite because so much was happening. Half the time, the doctors here were bullshitting while the waiting room filled up.

We pulled the curtain back and Dr. Mercer had this look like he recognized the woman. He cleared his throat and composed himself, before he spoke. “I’m Dr. Mercer, what happened to this little angel here?”

The little boy was small, and he was holding his arm, which meant he had either broken or sprained it. He peered up into Dr. Mercer’s eyes like he was afraid and had done something wrong. His mother couldn’t keep still and kept hugging herself.

“He fell in school and says it hurts.” She blurted out of turn, which told me that wasn’t how his arm ended up hurt.

Taking my pad out, I jotted down notes because there were signs of abuse here. The mother was strung out, and I had seen plenty of strung-out junkies, so I could spot one with little to no effort.

“We’ll get an x-ray going for him and get that all patched up, so you get out of here.” Dr. Mercer barely asked any questions.

He acted as if he didn’t want to be in this room with them. As if he was too good to help this mother who was clearly a junkie, and her abused boy who didn’t seem like he was taken care of.

“Want some ice cream?” Dinner was being served, so I knew I could sneak some from one of the cafeteria carts.

The boy nodded his head. “Yes, please.”

His mother shook her head no. “He don’t need that mess.”

“Are you sure? It’s fre ? —”

“King, when I move, you move… I sent Daniels to order the x-rays, why are you still here?” He scolded.

It was humbling coming here and having the doctors talk to you like you’re less than dirt. He didn’t know I could break his jaw and continue on with my day. I had to check Hassan the Inferno God at the door, and tap into Hassan, the future doctor.

Sim always talked to me about controlling my emotions and knowing when and how to code switch. He didn’t know it, but he was the reason I continued. The look of pride in his eyes when I told him what I had going on was enough to want to continue to make him proud.

I went to put the x-ray order in, when in reality, they only needed one of us to go. On the way back, Dr. Mercer was standing near the nurse station filling in files.

Something didn’t sit right with me. That little boy was being abused, and he didn’t seem to care. It was like he wasn’t seeing what was happening right in front of him.

“Dr. Mercer, I think we need to report neglect for the kid in triage six… classic signs of him being abused, and the mother is using.”

“You graduated medical school, King?”

“No.”

“Have you been a doctor for the past nineteen years?”

“No, but we lea ? —”

“Are you calling me a negligent doctor, King?”

“Dr. Mercer, I didn’t say any ? —”

He closed the file he was writing in moments before and looked at me. “I think the supply closet needs to be restocked.” I watched as he looked at his watch. “Go on and worry about that.”

I groaned at the fact that he was giving me grunt work because I told him what I saw. In medical school, they drilled in our heads to observe and that was what I did. Everything inside of me was telling me that this boy needed us, and we were ignoring him.

After I finished, I couldn’t wait to get away from the supply closet. Grabbing my backpack, I headed out the door, happy that I didn’t have to see Mercer for the next four days. He was always in and out, never here often.

He knew big people, apparently, which is why everyone sucked his ass. I hated that nigga, and if I wasn’t trying to get in good with these people and have that Dr. attached to me, I would have killed him myself.

“Aye, King,” I heard someone call me.

Turning, I saw Mercer with his bag in his hand. “Hey Dr. Mercer,” I bit my cheek, as I walked closer to him.

“If you allow every case that comes through that door to bother you, you won’t get anywhere. That kid broke his arm at school and his mom was a nervous wreck. I’ve become good at reading people, King.” He hit the alarm to the black Ford Expedition truck, as I turned to get on my bike.