Trinidad Noir

by Lisa Allen-Agostini

  Then again, maybe you haven’t seen those steps. Maybe you took the north coast road, like most of us, dreaming of arrival—a whole ocean, peacock, electric blue.

  DARK NIGHTS

  BY JUDITH THEODORE

  East Dry River

  All eyes of the waiting commuters followed the pair of shorts with the cheeks exposed and the long thin legs that carried them. Three-inch stilettos gave movement an added bounce. The spandex short top with diamond-studded heart motif on the chest was hardly noticed, so interesting was the lower half. Her companion attracted some glances, but her tight mini halter dress drew fewer comments.

  “That girl is not sixteen yet, I’m sure. Where was the mother when she left home?”

  “Why is she leaving home this hour of the night anyway?”

  These comments were loud enough for the teenager and her companion to hear. They ignored them except for an extra thrust of the hips and approached the last car in line. The long legs stretched into the taxi, then shifted so that the cheeks slid along the seat. The chunky legs with the elevated gym shoes entered next and made the same motion on the seat while the owner tugged at the tight dress. A male passenger followed and caused some more shifting of cheeks. The taxi was now full. The driver reversed, shifted, and sped away, humming softly to the reggae music playing on the radio. “Everybody going to St. James?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. Three passengers said yes.

  The two girls chorused, “No, we’re stopping off in Woodbrook.”

  “I was thinking of passing on the avenue,” the driver explained.

  “No problem then. We’re coming off at Murray Street.” Except for the low music and soft humming of the driver, no one spoke again until the girls reached their destination, paid, and alighted.

  “Thanks, drive,” the young woman in the mini dress said as she closed the door. “But Effie,” she turned to her friend as they started up Murray Street, “you never finished telling me why your mother slapped you last night and ripped your dress.”

  “Why you ask me that now, Maggie? I don’t want to spoil my good mood.”

  “I was really feeling bad, girl. She really cursed you stink and got on ridiculous,” Maggie answered with genuine concern.

  “You know my mother. You should be used to that. Don’t worry.”

  They reached the park, where some other young women called out to them.

  “Where you think those two are going?” the driver asked no one in particular.

  “They’re going to work,” the male passenger in the back shrugged. “Look where they dropped off. Look how they’re dressed.”

  The woman in the front seat, who had her arm resting on the window, shifted position and shook her head. “I think it’s a real shame the way those girls parading the street at night and standing at street corners. I thank God for mine. I know they are home right now doing homework.”

  The man sitting between the woman and the driver stared straight ahead and remained silent. The others chatted with the driver for the remainder of the journey. They mainly discussed the demerits of prostitution, condemning the lifestyle.

  The woman was the first to reach her destination. She exited the taxi with a cheery, “Good night to all.”

  “I won’t say I never went with one of them,” the driver confessed as soon as the car was in motion again, “but that was when I was young and just doing it for the experience. I know better now.”

  The man in the backseat cleared his throat and looked out the window. After a few moments, he broke the silence. “I used to hang around some friends who did that for a living,” he admitted. “I don’t lime with them now. When I used to be around them, I went with them. But I was a friend—although I would pass a little change.”

  The man who sat next to the driver sucked his teeth and burst out, “That is why I didn’t say anything. I know man is man. I don’t know who you all fooling.”

  The car was silent again.

  Two blocks from the park, a car stopped. A man got out and slipped through the gate. A few minutes later he emerged. He drove slowly down Roberts Street. Two women standing at the corner opposite the park called out to him. He pulled over, rolled down his window, and stretched across the passenger side.

  “You’re doing anything tonight?” Effie asked.

  “I’m in the mood for a lot. Come in. Let us negotiate.”

  “I’m not making a move till we settle on job and price. And I don’t have time to waste.” Effie glanced at another car slowing down across the road. The vehicle stopped and was quickly approached by two women from the park.

  “I’m paying for the night,” the man said with an air of confidence.

  Effie leaned on the window and looked him in the eye. She picked up a whiff of cologne she recognized. “That is twelve hundred dollars,” she said boldly.

  “One thousand, baby. We’ll discuss the other two hundred at the end of the night.” Effie opened the door and plopped down on the seat. Maggie pulled out her small notebook as they drove off and recorded the license plate number—PVM 2025.

  On and on she walked, more steadily now, more urgently, more confidently. Each time her heel then toe met the dusty asphalt, the acquaintance was briefer. The utter solitude of her journey was only broken by tiny flickering yellow lights, some close, some distant. They comforted her, amused her, distracted her long enough for her to forget her fear. She tried a few times to catch them but gave up because she felt silly waving her arms about. How would she know if she caught one, anyway? Would she feel a furry spot on her hand, or would it be a gooey mess? She could only tell by touch since she could see nothing except these luminous companions. No tree or shrub was outlined. No moon shone, and there were few stars. She kept a steady pace and made as little noise as possible. She had already encountered one stranger who had mumbled, “Night,” his breath almost knocking her out with its alcohol content. She briefly felt intoxicated herself. Suddenly she saw a light in the distance. It was small at first, then grew larger as it approached. It almost seemed to be rushing toward her. As she slowed her steps to delay the inevitable, her breath quickened. She felt strange as she realized this, the drumbeat in her chest echoing her anxiety. Abruptly she sank to her knees, her eyes on the light. Within a few feet of her, it veered to the left.

  She sprang up like a blade of grass momentarily stepped on, determined to reach her destination. This time heel and toe barely met the asphalt. She considered running but did not want to attract attention. Despite her terror, running was not an option.

  Eventually she discerned pairs of low moving lights crossing in opposite directions. Not many, but enough to let her know she was approaching a junction. Soon she could hear the passing cars. She slowed to her normal pace and strolled to the main road. The drum pounding inside her need not be apparent to all. She entered a bar and bought an Apple J, which she drank quickly and then bought another and left. She stopped a taxi and headed into town.

  Effie did not return to Murray Street. She went to her friend Pat’s. Pat was not there, so she slept on the porch. She had no intention of returning home with all that money. If Effie got home before her mother, she hid her earnings in various places in the house. Otherwise her mother, who worked the area around Queen’s Royal College opposite the Savannah, took what she believed was her share. This time, despite Maggie’s warnings about taking too many risks with clients, Effie had stolen all the money she had found at her client’s home and more. This time, she had taken two plastic bags of cocaine.

  “I ran out the house as soon as he fell asleep. I had to walk about a mile to the main road in these heels, and then while I was walking, the electricity went out. Talk about bad luck. You could imagine my fright. Then I saw car lights coming toward me. I swore it was him, then the lights swerved off. That was so scary.”

  “So, Effie, you mean to tell me you stole money again? You will get caught one day.”

  Sucking her teeth, Effie looked skyward, shifted her weight
, and lifted her little handbag higher on her shoulder.

  “I always tell you, Effie. I’m a prostitute, but I’m not a thief.”

  “Guess what? He had cocaine and I took that too,” Effie announced boldly.

  “What! Are you crazy?” Maggie exclaimed. “You went too far this time, girl. What do you intend to do with that?”

  “I gave one parcel to Marlon to sell. He is selling already, so I offered him a cut.”

  “So you will trust Marlon to give you the profits?”

  “Marlon knows I’m not afraid to use my knife.” Effie pulled the weapon from her bag and flicked it open.

  “What about me? Now I can’t go back for a long time. You did the thieving, but I was with you, so what am I supposed to do when that man comes looking?”

  “I’m giving you a cut too. He had five thousand dollars in the house—well, that is all I found. We can work Chaguanas till the heat is off. And,” Effie added, “don’t worry about his reporting it to the police. When his wife comes back from vacation, what reason will he give her for going to court?”

  “All of that traveling to and from Chaguanas eat up my hard-earned money. The last time we worked Chaguanas, I had to raise the cost of jobs and got less clients.”

  “New chicks in town always make a hit, so don’t panic,” Effie assured her. “I’m giving you a cut, I tell you. You could buy more sexy outfits and put in a new weave so we will blow away the Chaguanas posse.”

  It was 11:15. The sun was making its presence felt. People lined the wall of the building opposite the Royal Gaol for shade. A few leaned against the curved wall of the prison looking expectantly at the gates. Finally, the gates opened and the released prisoners emerged, some moving toward familiar faces. A dark-skinned youth dressed in black jeans, a white Sean John jersey, and gym shoes, and carrying two large plastic bags, strolled through the gates. He wore dark glasses. He took a quick gulp of his soft drink, threw back his shoulders, and swaggered down Frederick Street.

  Meanwhile, a young brown-skinned man was walking up the same road. He was dressed for the office in black pants and a long-sleeved white shirt, and his hair was neatly cut. Not far from the prison, his face broke into a smile as he recognized the ex-con and embraced him. “How was your stay inside, breds? How is the life?” he asked as they headed down Frederick Street, arms around each other.

  They spoke quietly as they walked. The office worker took the soft drink while the ex-con tied a plastic bag onto one of his pant loops. Removing his sunglasses, the ex-con looked around casually, then placed them in his pocket. The office worker finished the soda and threw the bottle away. They turned and crossed Park Street onto Piccadilly Street.

  “I got to go back to work now. I’ll check you later, breds.”

  “Sheldon, boy, you hug me up, drain my soft drink, and you leaving me just so?”

  “You know if I was holding, Carl, I would give you a purple note, even a blue note, but I skating on passage till payday.”

  “I know you have my back, Sheldon. Hold a ten nuh. Later.”

  Sheldon took the ten dollars Carl handed him and hurried back to work. Carl walked until he reached the housing development on Nelson Street commonly known as the Plannings. He had lived here when he was younger, but in his early teens his family had moved to Maloney. He still spent a lot of time in his old neighborhood, where he had relatives and many friends. He noted nothing had changed in the last four years.

  Marlon spotted Carl from his second-floor window and raced down to meet him. He threw his arms around him, slapped him on his back, bounced his fist on Carl’s chest, and offered his open palm which Carl slapped. “So you just fly, bro,” he said, leading the way to the apartment. Marlon bounded up the stairs two at a time while Carl took the steps singly. Inside, Marlon made a show of dusting off a chair for Carl while calling into the kitchen, “Ma, come and see who here.”

  “Carl, God bless my eye,” Marlon’s mother exclaimed, hugging him. “You just come out?” She moved to the door to check that it was locked. “Well, you in good time. I now take off the pot, so you must eat something.”

  “Thanks, Ms. Noble. I will take a little taste,” Carl said shyly, shifting in his chair.

  “A little taste? Only a little taste of my food?”

  “Well, when I pass by my two aunts in the next Plannings, I sure they will want me to eat too,” Carl explained.

  “Boy, when last you had good home-cook food? Eat here, eat there, eat all you can. Don’t be shy.”

  “All right, Ms. Noble, dish out what you want.” Carl smiled as Ms. Noble bustled over to the kitchen.

  As soon as his mother was out of earshot, Marlon pulled up a chair close to Carl’s and spoke in low tones. “What type of piece you want, a nines or a .38?”

  Carl shook his head. “I not in the life again. I had plenty time to think in prison, and it not making sense. I plan to go to church.”

  “Carl, you was going to church with your mother when you was in the life.”

  “I was fooling myself, not the Lord,” Carl said, searching Marlon’s face for understanding.

  “This is our way of life,” Marlon argued. “What job you will get? How will you survive?”

  “I will trust in the Lord for my survival.”

  “You still need a piece to protect yourself,” Marlon insisted stubbornly. “You don’t have to commit any robberies, but you made plenty enemies, and they will be coming for you.”

  “I will ask for forgiveness and trust in the Lord.”

  “Boy, like they mess with your brains in prison. Like you gone off. Before you reach to ask for forgiveness you will get a bullet. A man must have a weapon for protection in these times.”

  “That is the chance I will take,” Carl said quietly. “You don’t know what it is to be locked up for four years. I don’t want to go back there again. I will not go back there again.”

  Ms. Noble brought out lunch then and they all ate.

  “Yes, Ms. Noble, you outdo yourself today. You have me licking my fingers,” Carl said, eating the last piece of breadfruit with relish. “That was the best oil down I taste in years.”

  “The best? Boy, that was the only oil down you eat in years,” Marlon joked.

  “True. We didn’t even get that on Christmas Day. One apple per man for Christmas,” Carl reflected soberly. “Thanks, Ms. Noble. I really appreciate that meal, my first meal of freedom. When they tell me I could leave, I bought a soft drink from the prisoners’ canteen. I just wanted to walk down the road doing something natural.”

  “You see how it feel to be free again? Just hold on to that and don’t do a thing to end up there again,” Ms. Noble advised. She cleared the table and returned to the kitchen.

  “Where you get money for soft drink?” Marlon asked Carl.

  “The authorities give me my money for good behavior and prison work.”

  “So what is your plan now?” Marlon asked.

  Carl rose. “I’m heading to Maloney after I check my aunts.” He called goodbye to Ms. Noble as Marlon unlocked the door. Marlon followed him downstairs.

  “So what you going to do when that money run out? I can give you a parcel to sell to start,” Marlon offered.

  “Marlon, you don’t understand,” Carl said, raising his voice. “I finish with that life.” He left and headed for the apartments on Duncan Street.

  Carl walked slowly, savoring the old neighborhood. The cracked pavement and garbage strewn in the drains was just as he had remembered. The noise from the corner bar was as raucous as ever. Small children peered from windows to relieve boredom. A pack of dogs rounded the corner after a bitch in heat. A young woman strutted down the street toward him wearing a tiny tube top and a short denim skirt. Carl thought something about her looked familiar. They passed, and both turned at the same time to look over their shoulders. They recognized each other, and slowly walked back examining each other’s faces. Carl searched his memory, then blurted, “Effie!” Before him
stood the teenage version of the little girl who had lived in the apartment opposite his aunt. He had no sisters and had sometimes regarded Effie almost as a little sister.

  “That is you, Carl?” Effie almost shouted. “I heard you was inside. It’s good to see you. How long you come out?”

  “This morning. You didn’t go to school today,” Carl commented, observing Effie’s outfit. When he had last seen Effie, she was excitedly telling everyone she met that she had passed the Secondary Assessment Examination for a “prestige” school. Carl remembered the joy he had felt at her success.

  “I leave school a long time now,” Effie answered flatly.

  “But I hear you were doing good in Convent.”

  “I was doing good in school, yes. Then I started to feel like I shouldn’t be there. I felt like the other girls were treating me funny.” Effie crossed the road to the shade of a shop at the corner. Carl followed, looking her over.

  “Why you feel the other girls treat you funny? I’m sure you didn’t dress like this to go to school.”

  Effie laughed. “No, my uniform was neat as ever.”

  “What happened then?”

  “You don’t know what I do?”