The next one don’t wait for me to tell him to stand up. He rise and say, You all know me as a man allow to walk through Copenhagen City and the Eight Lanes too. Me was the one who go to Shotta Sherrif and say, them man here who shoot up the Singer, nobody in Copenhagen City responsible for them. Papa-Lo would have never authorize them kinda fuckery—
—Watch you language.
—Them kinda sinting, me mean. Me say, So Shotta, you know them not in no JLP territory no more. So look through you own territory or beyond and sniff them out. Is them find this mad one, a hide in the bush all the way in St. Thomas. Man did have him gun in him brief. Me ask Shotta men how they find him, they say police did know where him be from, he jump ’pon a minibus and head out to country.
—What about the one who shot him personally? The same goon who shot me as well?
—Him dead, me tell you.
—The man who shot me four times?
—Dead.
—I most sincerely beg to differ. He was at the con—
The Singer touch the manager shoulder.
—Oh. I see. Perhaps that is for the best. Carry on then.
The manager shut up. Me did think the Singer was going talk. Me was hoping him did talk. But him already say enough to me. He know who shoot him. I know who shoot him.
Josey Wales.
Every other man in the two car was, brawta, extra, parts of the body, neither the heart nor head. We don’t talk but we say plenty. I look ’pon him and disappoint him again. But surely he must know the world and the sky and the planets and that they not the only things bigger than just an ordinary man from the ghetto trying to make wrong right.
Josey Wales.
But wrong six feet taller than right, I want to tell him. If you can’t catch Harry, catch him shirt and hold on to that at least, I want to tell him. Me is an old man and when you get old all your guns fire blanks, I want to tell him. Him looking at me and seeing the man who did aim for his heart.
Josey Wales. I was hoping the man was among these three even though me did know that wasn’t going to be so. Surely a man know the man who try to kill him even if only in the spirit. The manager get shot from behind, but the Singer get a bullet in the chest. But even that perplex me. Why anybody would want to shoot the Singer? Even the boys who get con from the horse race scam had a writ against the friend, not the Singer. He look ’pon me and me look ’pon him and we both know that on certain man neither of we can look. I want to kill Leggo Beast, bring him back to life and kill him again. At least seven time until the Singer satisfied. But that won’t satisfy nothing. And this court is already a joke. Me want to leave even before he want to leave.
—Me never shoot him. Me shoot the wife, Leggo Beast say.
Even the manager quiet after that one. The whole gully quiet while we all look at Leggo Beast hard. Him say it like it supposed to be something, that this is the only straw leave to clutch. Me mind run ’pon it right then, the man who once say to me, Papa, me never kill that woman, me did just rape her. The man beside him start laugh.
—Bam-Bam shoot the wife, not you, him say.
—No, is me did shoot her.
—Where? me say.
—Then no must in the bombocloth head. Yeah, inna the head.
The other one, not the mad one, start to laugh. Deep down, way past me heart, me did almost want to laugh too.
—You shoot the wife in the head and still couldn’t kill her? CIA train you for almost two months and you couldn’t even kill one woman? What happen to all them thing we see in movie? What kinda fuckery training that be when eight or nine man all with machine gun couldn’t kill one man? One unarmed man? Ten sitting duck in the studio?
Then me woman say, But Papa, you is a thinking man.
I look and think I see her standing at the top of the gully, but is nothing, not even a tree. Cold breeze sweep down into the passage. I swear I could see it hanging above we for a second then dive down, though breeze don’t have no colour. That song jump out of the radio and dive down in the gully too. Do it light. Do it through the night. Shadow. Me and Tony Pavarotti driving in the car. No, me in the taxi with three man but none is Tony Pavarotti. No, Tony Pavarotti gone. No he right beside me. No he over there behind the three jury. We in McGregor Gully, and him right there. He looking in the dark, we not in a car. The Singer is right there, him and the manager. Talk, manager, say something boasty and out of turn so I know you still there. Me didn’t shoot the Singer, me shoot the wife, Leggo Beast still saying. Me feel like me was outside and just walk right back into a discussion which gone far from where it was when me leave. But me never go anywhere. Me is right here and up above the wind swooping up and down like a ghost and I can see it and I can’t see it and I wonder if me is the only one seeing it and not seeing it, the wind rising above the gully like spirit about to fly.
—Enough with this r’ass. How unu find them? Guilty or innocent?
Guilty pop off all over the gully. I look around from the first to the last and count them off. One . . . three . . . five . . . seven . . . eight . . . nine. Nine? I look again and see eight. Me blink and between the blink and the open eye me sure me see nine and the ninth look like Jesus. No, like Superman. No, like CIA? Blink Papa, blink it again, blink it out. Just blink it out and pass judgment.
—This court find—
—This not no bloodcloth court.
—This court find you guilty.
—You not no bloodcloth court. Me want justice.
—This court find you guilty.
—The whole of unu a fuckery. You and him and him, too. Force people to do what you want then—
—You all sentence to death. This is a civilized court.
—Top man get ’way and poor man suffer.
—Everybody suffer now ’cause o’ you.
—Him not suffering. Him is like lion in Zion now.
—Tony, bring that r’asscloth man here.
Tony shove the gag back in Leggo Beast mouth and drag him over. He didn’t even bother make him walk, just drag him by the shirt like him is corpse already, him legs scuffling on the road. He pulling him towards me but me nod towards the Singer. Me did think the women was going leave but them stay and look. I walk up to the Singer for the first time. He know what me going to do. He can say yes or no with just a nod, but he need to tell me. The man who justice wronged is the man who must choose how we going to right it. The manager step out of the way, for this is between me and the Singer. He look at me, me look at him for a second, me see a flash and hear a boom and pow and a hiss. Me on the road with three man, but not Pavarotti. The Singer switch in and out like a bad signal from a TV and his eye flash fire. I shake it out. I don’t feel the breeze on me. Cool breeze like we at sea. I shake it out. I look at him and he look at me. Behind me back and shoved in me pants, the gun, I pull the gun from behind me and hold it by the nozzle and hand it to the Singer. I wait for him to take the gun in him hand. I look at Leggo Beast and at the Singer. Him hand don’t even flinch. He don’t even nod no. He turn and walk away with the manager hopping right behind him. I don’t want him to leave before knowing that for this man Papa-Lo will see him get justice. He stop for one second when me squeeze the trigger. Someplace at some session the DJ just say People, are you rea-eh-dy? The Singer don’t turn around when Leggo Beast body fall flat on the ground and I shove the gun back in me pants. Leggo Beast flat on the ground, the hole in the back of him head gurgling blood like baby vomit. The wind spinning ’round and ’round like American tornado.
We by the beach, I can smell the salt in the sea. But McGregor Gully not by no sea. The Singer and the manager gone. When him drive away? Me blink and they gone. I shake me head out again. I look and see him on a bed in the white man country and room in a house with a long road that go up in the mountains, a place that look like it come out of a fairy tale book. And me blink again and another man coming towards me, no is not the Singer, this man near all bones and him black. He come right up to me and him br
eath smell of weed and food and it stink and he saying Where the ring? Where His Imperial Majesty’s ring? I know you see it. I know you see him wearing it. Where him put the bombo r’asscloth ring? I want it now, it can’t go back down in the Earth with him, you hear me? I want the bombocloth ring. Me have a right to it, me have a right to the livication of His Imperial Highness King Menelik son of Solomon who reign in Israel and send the fire of creation back down in the Queen of Sheba belly, he say and he come right up to me and me looking past him and the wind blowing colder and louder and harder like a storm, but is not the storm, is the sea and I shake real, real hard and it all go and is McGregor Gully looking clear again. My gun rubbing my back, still warm from the shot, the barrel down right below the belt, two man who was just jury lasso the other two man like they is both cow they dragging back to the ranch and still the women stay, and watch. I watch them watching it. I want to know what would make a woman watch the evil man do. Maybe if woman don’t witness judgment then judgment didn’t happen.
But Papa, you is a thinking man, me woman say.
Me hear her but me can’t see her. They lasso the two man and take them into bush. No beat, no ceremony, no music. They throw the other end of the rope over two brand of the same tree. Why is a white man here? Why he behind them, looking at them, and why he turn around and look at me? When he look at me the breeze get cold. The two man standing on two tall stool, they trembling and they screaming. They trembling too hard and shifting the stool, but every time the stool shift they scream. The not-mad one thinking he just need to tense up him neck, just stiffen up every muscle and when the stool fall he won’t dead. I don’t know why I know what him thinking but that is exactly what him thinking and me know. But the white man looking at them, he looking up and down the rope and he looking at me and me want to jump and shout, Who you, white man? Who you be? You was following the Singer? How you get this far? But me can’t talk, me can’t say a word ’cause nobody else going on like white man suddenly deh ’pon them. Nobody don’t see him. Me don’t know but he look at them and stare at me. Tony Pavarotti don’t wait. The women watch. Maybe him is a duppy.
Tony Pavarotti kick ’way the first stool, the man drop one foot, two feet maybe. The man jerking and gagging and swing so hard and wild he knock the other man stool and then he fall to him death too. They swinging and jerking and the rope creaking and me look at them and me look between them at the white man and me neck start to burn and cut and bleed and blood in the skull pumping like a balloon filling with more and more water. They still jerking. This is cowboy movie fault. People thinking a hanging death happen as soon as the music stop. But hanging where the neck don’t snap can take a long, long time. It taking too long, and the women start to walk away backwards into the dark. The two men head swelling packing full with blood. The lungs give up from air hunger and both of them stop jerk. And neither of them dead yet. I know. I don’t know how I know, but I know. I know from feeling it inside them and outside them, and just watching they neck.
The white man is still there. The white duppy. I blink and he in the car with me. Me and the two other man who I know but I can’t remember, and we on a road, a bridge over the sea, but is not Pavarotti driving, is another man. I know him because he making joke about the idiot horse me buy a year ago and it still can’t win no race. And that don’t make no sense for me only buy the horse one week ago. But when me talk nobody hear me because me also talking in the car, and me can see meself talking in the car, me can hear what me saying ’bout the horse and me telling meself you only buy the horse one week ago.
The bodies now swaying with the breeze but still otherwise. Everybody gone, the women gone, the man them gone, nighttime gone, the sky grey and seagulls screaming. And me can’t see the white man. We in the car. Now we in the car but the car stop long time ago. We going to McGregor Gully. No, we coming from the football match, me only thinking horse race because Lloyd in the car and him train horse. No, is April 22, 1978. Me never forget the day of a hanging. No, is February 5, 1979, me never forget the day of that idiot football match because me was talking to Lloyd about how he training me horse.
No, wait. Roll back the tape. Me head not sitting right.
Clouds grey and heavy, rain about to fall.
Trevor, why you always drive so bombocloth fast once you reach the damn causeway, is daylight you running from?
You know him, boss. Him can’t wait fi leave Portmore.
Can’t wait, eh? What this one name Claudette or Dorcas?
Haha, you how it be boss, them Portmore girl is nothing but vampire.
Stop giving them your neck and spend ’pon you pickney for a change. How ’bout that?
Good one, boss! Good one.
All this talk ’bout woman, how come is nothing but man in this car? Cho!
We can turn back and go check two thing, name Claudette and Dorcas, boss.
No sah, me no want Trevor what-left. Them gal there mash up. Serve no use now.
Woi, boss, you give too much joke.
Papa how you ah do me so? And is Lerlene and Millicent, not Claudette and Dorcas.
Claudene and Dorcent.
Lerlent and Millicene.
Haha.
The whole of unu mad. Lloyd, talk some sense to me.
Pussycloth. Boss. Papa.
Brethren, wha we a slow down for?
Boss . . . look.
A wha the r’asscloth this?
Four of them, boss. Babylon. Three bike park and four police. Red seam too. Stop?
No. Any of you see any parked car that we pass? Somebody must be coming up from the back soon.
Me nuh remember no car.
Then is what behind we? Cho r’asscloth. Lloyd, how far we be from the zinc factory?
’Bout a hundred yard, boss.
But we can’t take foot nowhere.
The car behind we stop, boss.
How much police? Not them three, how much coming out of the car?
Nobody coming out of the car. We stopping?
Slow down little bit. Shit r’asscloth shit.
If you don’t stop them going shower this car with bullet.
Is just four man on three bike.
Four man with AK, Papa.
Reverse and swing ’round.
Them would catch we easy, boss.
Catch we for what? After we nah hold nothing in the car.
Anything we do them going full we o’ lead, boss, that one have megaphone.
Hold on. Me know him.
Stop the cyar h’an come out with your ’ands h’up.
Trevor, Trevor stop the car. But don’t turn off the engine.
This h’is a routine spot check. Come h’out of the cyar with you ’ands them h’up.
Papa, don’t come out the car. Don’t come out of the car.
This h’is a routine spot check. Come h’out of the bombocloth cyar with you ’ands them h’up.
Papa, me no like it, star. Don’t come out of the car.
Look, we not going tell you four time, come h’out of the bloodcloth cyar, Papa-Lo.
I-is what this, Officer?
Papa, them know is you?
Officer, is what this?
Does me look like me h’in h’any conversating with you? You h’and your personnel need to make h’an evacuation from the cyar.
Brethren, throw the car inna reverse.
Right into the car behind we? You ah idiot or what? Papa, what you want to do?
Who in here have a piece? Me have me .38.
Not me.
Me neither.
Me train horse, boss.
Shit.
Papa, you not going like it h’if me ’ave fi tell you fi come h’out again.
Papa?
Come out of the car. We coming out, Officer. See we—
Not talking to the likes of you. Come h’out and stand right there so by the bush. Yes the bush across the road, eediot.
Easy no, pardner.
Me not you pardner, puss
yhole. You think me ’ fraid of you?
You should be frai—
Trevor, shut you mouth. Where you want we, Officer?
You h’is a bombocloth deaf man or what? You want me say it slow? Remove from the vicinity of the cyar so that we can search the cyar. Move h’over to the left and keep walking till you is in front of the wild bush by the side of the road.
Papa, Papa you think them—
Shut up, Lloyd, just ease yourself.
You, Mr. Papa-Lo, you want to know why we stop you this h’evening?
Me no business with anything Babylon want.
Well, we certainly have to teach you some manners before the h’evening h’is through.
Suit yourself, Officer.
Sergeant, you wouldn’t believe what in here.
H’in the cyar?
H’in the cyar. Them owner radio.
A radio? In ghetto man cyar? How that work? Turn it on. Hold on deh, turn it up . . . louder. What a thing. Then Corporal you know how fi dance the disco? Spoon it right, spoon it through the night, shadow dancing.
Haha, after the song nuh go so, Sergeant.
You ah tell me how the song go? Is you and me did go to Turntable Club last night?
Last night? But we deh ’pon curfew, Sergeant.
Kibba you mouth. Inspector, in the mean time you want to give them four man a little search? Make it quick and pad down the cocky and batty, since them ghetto boy think we too fool to check it. Search Papa-Lo first. Yes man, spoon it right, spoon it through the night, shadow dancing, blah blah blah blablah, spoon it more, spoon it more-more-more, shadow danceeeeeeeng blah blah blah bla-blah. Yeah, man, is when you can do them disco moves that the girl them love you. Inspector, any of them over there doing the shadow dance?
No, Sergeant, but if you blink you might catch them do the hustle.
A Brief History of Seven Killings Page 37
