—Wow, that would be a mistake of disastrous proportions, he said, not to me but to whatever he was looking at out the window. I survey the car to see if anybody was looking at that exchange.
—I think I know what you’re doing, I say.
—Really? Do tell.
—Whatever it is that you have, clearly it’s giving you a death wish. You don’t have to be afraid of anything anymore so you can do whatever you want.
—Maybe. Or maybe, Freud, I just want some fucking jerk pork and yam, and rum punch, and don’t give a fuck about your fucking dime-store pop psychology. You ever fucking thought about that?
Two men look up.
—Sorry. I just get all of that shit from my son and his wife already. Don’t need it, especially from somebody I’m paying for.
Three men and two women look up.
—Well, thanks for letting everybody think that I’m a prostitute, I say.
—What? What are you talking about?
—Everybody heard you.
—Oh. Oh no.
And then he gets up. I open my handbag wide and wonder if my whole head can fit in it.
—Look folks . . . I ah . . . know what you might be thinking.
—Are you serious? They’re not thinking anything. Sit down.
—I just want to say, that Dorcas here, she’s my wife, not some prostitute.
I know that in my mind I screamed. I don’t know if I did it in public but in my mind I sure as hell screamed.
—We’ve been married for what now, four years, honey? And I gotta say, it’s just like the first day, isn’t that so, precious?
I can’t tell if he’s failing badly at protecting my reputation or if he’s really enjoying this. Meanwhile I’m looking very hard at people trying hard not to look. An older woman is covering her mouth and laughing. I want to laugh just to make it clear I’m outside this joke too, but the laugh just won’t come. The funny thing is I’m not even mad at him. He’s holding on to the railing, swinging with the train almost like he’s about to dance. The train stops at Morris Park.
—This is our stop.
—Oh? But this is Morris Park. I thought we were coming off at Gun Hill Road?
—This is the stop.
I jump out as soon as the doors open and don’t wait for him. I don’t even look back. I almost want him to stay on, go the fuck to Gun Hill Road all he wants. But then I hear him breathing behind me.
—God that was fun.
—Embarrassing people is fun?
I stand at the platform, waiting for an apology because I’ve seen movies, this is what you’re supposed to do.
—Maybe you should ask yourself why you’re so easily embarrassed.
—Wah?
—I love it when you talk Jamaican.
—You serious?
—Oh for fuck’s sake, Dorcas. You don’t know a single person on the train, you’ll never see any of them again, and even if you do, you won’t even remember what they look like, so who gives a shit what they thought?
Jesus sweet Lord, I hate when I’m not the one in the room making sense.
—We should wait for the next train.
—Fuck that. Let’s walk.
—You’re going to walk. In the Bronx.
—Yep, that’s what I’m gonna do.
—You know that they find a body in Haffen Park almost every morning.
—You’re gonna talk to a veteran about dead bodies?
—You know crime is not like how you see it on Police Woman.
—Police Woman? When’s the last time you watched TV?
—We can’t walk just in the Bronx.
—Don’t worry, Dorcas, at worst they’ll just think you’re helping me to score heroin.
—Did you just say heroin?
This was going to be fabulous, me the questionably documented immigrant walking through a Bronx neighbourhood in the evening with a strange white man clearly out of his element because he’s drinking that I’m-a-whiteman-I’m-invincible juice.
—Then you not going even call your family?
—Fuck ’em. The wrinkle my daughter will get from frowning over this, especially after her face-lift, will be worth it.
Tristan Phillips
Oh, so you can go back to Jamaica whenever you want to? Ah so? You sound like man who say they can give up smack whenever they want to. Mind you know, Alex Pierce, Jamaica can shoot through your veins and it become like every dark sweet thing that not good for you. But me done with talking in riddle. The thing is, unless you did know where to look for me, there is no way you could have find me. Yeah, yeah, you’re concerned about the fall of the peace process, so tell me something, how you plan to learn anything about it if you not been in the country since 1978? Me surprised you even hear about it, since you never was on the rock when it happen. So you going talk to Lucy? Brethren, you no serious. Lucy is the key. Me and she is the only people from the peace council still alive. You going have to track her down in Jamaica, my youth. You ever wonder how come we two still alive while everybody else dead? Of course not, until right now, you did think it was only one. Remember, you know, on paper me supposed to dead too. Everybody get killed and depending who you talk to, that include the Singer. Tell me something, you ever hear somebody get infected with cancer?
The thing I still can’t understand is why this topic sweat you so much. You making it out like The Day Jamaica Gone to Hataclaps, like the place did have somewhere else to go. So what was your favourite spot in Jamaica? Trench Town? What kind of man pick Trench Town as him favourite spot? You lucky you white, eh? Make me ask you something, you think Trench Town is a favourite spot for anybody living in Trench Town? You think any of them sitting on a stoop saying, Now this is the life? Tourist funny, boy.
Oh, you not a tourist. Don’t tell me: you know the real Jamaica. You did have a little missus down there? Aisha. Nice name, sound like something you say when you cum. So she a nice girl or she suck your dick? Haha, me no mind, white boy, me is a man of the world. Third World, but still. How much more time we have today? Unlimited? In Rikers? Brethren, is what kinda string you just pull? Still better we get back on topic, no true?
Until the Singer tell me ’bout Josey Wales me never think twice ’bout the boy. But then things and more things happen, and you start to see signs even though you never did like church. I mean, if he did really care about killing the Singer he would have finished the job the very next night. Man must was out to make a different point. I mean, shit, to come straight into the Singer yard two year later like nothing never happen? A man with balls that big? Stay out of him way. Now it easy to say that peace did doom to fail because war is the ghetto man character. Yeah, that sound like something wise, but you have to understand—you know when hope so new and fresh it even have a colour? Like the thing that you save in the back of you head because it never going happen and then all of a sudden it look like it might happen for real? Is like you find out that you can fly for true. We never born behind cow, or naïve as you would put it. None of we was idiot. All of we did know that this peace was a ninety percent chance of fail but, man, ten percent never look so sweet in all we life. You could just grab it. And when Shotta Sherrif say to me that me must chair it this peace council, is like somebody look at me and for the first time see something different from what me even see in meself. I . . .
I . . .
I lost meself again.
And then in a blink: Copper shot, Papa-Lo shot, first me did think that it was just the police settling score now that we guard down. Or worse: political parties which never did want the peace anyway getting rid of it in time for the next election. But we already talk about the intelligence of the police. And even politician wouldn’t want it come out that is them kill peace. You have to look deeper. Police kill bad man because them have vendetta. But other than to have a dead body to parade around downtown they don’t really get no benefit out of killing nobody. You have think. Who in a better place right now than he was
before these killings? Only one man.
Josey Bombocloth Wales.
Papa-Lo dead and now he the ranking don of Copenhagen City. Shotta Sherrif dead and PNP’s New York posses scattered ever since, including my owner posse. Every man in New York sniffing, smoking and shooting up the white wife and the Colombian need a man with skill that can get that shit further into the States. And even England now, me hear. Take the peace treaty out of the way, and he just give certain politician a favour so big that they going spend the rest of the life to repay. Kill any movement of Jah people and Americans don’t have no reason to be ’fraid anymore that we going turn into Cuba. Me don’t know nothing for true, but I’d bet that even some people higher up, maybe people who control coast guard, or immigration or customs or some shit, now all turn a blind eye to certain boat and plane and ship because one man give them Jamaica on a plate in 1980.
Brethren, if me did know why people like me end up in prison, people like me wouldn’t end up in prison. Feel free to start your first paragraph that way, call it ghetto wisdom or something, whatever you white people write whenever you get all caught up in shady black people. Yeah, me read too, Alex Pierce, more than you. Man, people like me just excite you, eh? Put a white journalist beside him own “Stagger Lee” and your brain go bananas. Is ’cause you have no story of your own? Right, it’s not about you, you’re here to tell the story, not be the story. And yet still some part of me tell me that this is your story, not mine. You interested in any year after 1978? How ’bout 1981? Plenty things happen, the Singer get to know this place named Heaven and me get to know this place named Attica. What, you think man get to Rikers because them see a brochure? You graduate to Rikers, brethren.
So anyway, even though me know that batty boy Weeper wasn’t going come after me again, that didn’t mean Josey Wales wasn’t going to. By the way, you ever meet that brother? No? You talking about the peace process and you never meet . . . never mind. I really couldn’t know what that man was planning to do, so me start run with the Ranking Dons. It simple: Storm Posse, which is Josey Wales, is Copenhagen City, and Ranking Dons is the Eight Lanes. And since me was a part of Eight Lanes from the day they bulldoze Balaclava, where else me fi go? No star, political warfare don’t end just because you switch battlefield. I needed the safety in numbers, they needed the brains since the stupid little fuckers couldn’t even keep track of who selling on what street, or which street you was going get shoot up by Eubie Brown and him Storm Posse.
No problem brother, change you cassette.
Anyway, say this about the Storm Posse and Eubie, even Josey Wales. Them might wipe out an entire line of people at the theater just to get one man, but at least them have some sort of class. Or at least Eubie have some class. Or maybe he just know how to wear silk and not look like a pimp. But my crew? Nothing but dutty, nasty naigger. Like this one time, the bossman hear a man from Jamdown based in Philly just get a huge stash of weed, but though he be part of Copenhagen City he didn’t have Storm Posse protection because the fool didn’t think he need it. So the bossman send we to Philadelphia.
The man so unaware that we just walk right into him house. Didn’t even lock him door. For a man who supposed to have a big stash he didn’t act like it. I remember telling Ranking Dons that if this stash is for Eubie there goin’ be another war in at least one of the five boroughs. But them convinced this man is an independent, as if man just trip and fall and land on a shipment of weed. Anyway, the man see we and start to run upstairs for the gun because he didn’t keep one on him. Me say to meself, Who is this amateur? Ranking Dons sure they send me to the right house, because this man wasn’t acting like he have anything valuable to hide. The fucking idiot who was with me then say that maybe is some reverse psychology sinting, you know, if he act like he have nothing to protect then we will think he clean and leave. Hate to say it but that did make a kinda sense. So we tie him up and start slap him around little bit telling him to give up the stash or it only going get worse. Before me even tell him how worse, the fucking idiot clap him with a gun butt straight in the mouth. What the fuck wrong with you? I say to the idiot only to watch him smile at me like an idiot. This man need fi talk now, him say. How him going talk if you mash up the thing he need to speak with, you fucking retarded idiot? I say, and he shut up, but not before he look at me long, as if that kinda shit frighten me.
And if she never scream me wouldn’t even know that he have wife. She try to run, but you can’t get too far with a baby in your hand. We force her down on a chair while me hold the baby, because this fucking idiot was just going put it down on the cold floor. Three more time I ask the man for the weed stash, and three more time he say he don’t have no weed. I know he was lying. Why would he tell the truth? After all, stakes don’t raise yet. The fucking idiot all this time looking at the wife and grabbing him crotch. He use him foot to lift her skirt off her legs to see her green panty. Green? How come it nuh pink? he say. Me getting tired of this house, this man and him wife and the fucking idiot, even this baby who sleeping on me shoulder when the fucking idiot say, Yow, my youth, check it, me ah go hoist up the pussyhole and sink down the cock, you see me? Before me even say something him already drop him pants and start grab him crotch through him brief. You one of them nasty American woman who suck buddy? ’Cause you can suck it, just don’t make me cum before me fuck you. Oh, and that mean no kissy-kiss.
—You not raping her, me say to the fucking idiot.
—How you mean, who going stop me, you?
Him say to me like he throwing down gauntlet. I thinking, Shit, this fucking idiot going rape this poor gal in front of her own baby and me can’t do nothing because everything from car to hotel book under him name. The wife scream and he punch her in the face.
—What the bombocloth wrong with you?
—Nothing wrong with me, me a show the bitch say silence golden.
He pull down him brief and say, You going spread you leg and open up the pussy or me going haffi spread you? The wife start cry and look at either the baby or me, I can’t tell.
—Brethren, pull you pants back up.
—Fuck you. It pull back up when me cocky limp again.
—You ah go rape the woman in front of her own man?
—Make him watch and learn what fi do with woman.
—Brethren, me say no raping going on.
Then he aim him gun at me. Shut up, him say. She ask if him have condoms and he say, That condom is plan to kill black people. And, anyway, condom make him lose him nature.
Me looking at him forcing the woman legs open, and the man looking at me and me looking at the baby. Them in the basement behind the bookshelf him say. But me only have five bag, him say. I think he say please after that, but the wife was whimpering as the fucking idiot squeeze her breast. Then he yank her down on the floor.
—Brethren—
—Fuck off.
—You is an idiot? We take the weed and leave. Him can’t call the police. But if you rape her police going be here, and them going find we before we even make it to the state line.
—Then we kill them.
He say it just like that. Hey, me no have no problem shooting up a club full of pussyholes, but me not killing no family in cold blood just ’cause them make a wrong move and think them can deal with drugs.
—How much time you go prison, fool?
—A who you ah call fool—
—Me say how much time you go bloodcloth prison?
—One time and me nah go back.
—So if you rape her, them hold you for rape. If you kill her, them hold you for murder. Because maybe you didn’t notice, but only one of the two of we wearing gloves and that motherfucker is not you.
He look at me like me lead him into a trap, but you only have yourself to blame for stupid. Especially since he was behaving like the don of dons the whole drive.
—Now why you don’t go pull up your pants and go get the weed?
He go down to the basement and come up
with only four bag. Bag about the size of the paper you writing notes on. This time I gun-butt him myself. I tell this brethren, Look, don’t fucking lie to me or me will leave the room and this man can do with your wife whatever he want. He start cry, the poor man, probably didn’t know what he was getting himself into. If the wife stayed with him after that then love not blind, it deaf, dumb and stupid. He say one more bag in the bedroom. The fucking idiot find it under the bed, along with three guns that him was clearly going to keep for himself. I didn’t care, I didn’t even bother to tell him that gun very easy to track. Besides, something told me that this couple wasn’t about to file no police report. Wicked times, eh? But at least with Josey Wales, if he say there was five bags in the house, believe you me there was five bags in the house. Instead you get Ranking Dons who couldn’t organize their way out of open door.
You know something though, Alex Pierce? Every single time I mention Josey Wales you jump. Just a little bit, but enough. Nervous tic, eh? Seaga have nervous tic. You jump. I think I figuring it out why you come to see me. Everybody who need to know, know say at one point Josey Wales want me dead, but him clearly not after me no more. The big question is, how did you know there was a contract out on you?
Weeper
I said I caught the motherfucking bitch tryna suck my little boy’s dick for his pocket money. That same heifer right over there by the doorway. You think I’m motherfucking blind? He’s only twelve. All these motherfucking crack hos with they stank-ass pussies all up in this neighbourhood, y’all said you’d keep them away because your biz is almost legit and shit. Well y’all can go kiss my black ass. And another thing . . .
Bushwick. Sunset gone long time but things always fucking hot in Bushwick. Woman standing right in front of me, in me face I can smell garlic on her. Eye shadow but no lipstick, Jheri curl drying out. Belly a muffin spilling over her jeans. We in the street but she keep pointing to the crack ho who start running-walking away.
A Brief History of Seven Killings Page 53
