Shakira imagined Little Kevin narrowly escaping death, as she made her way to the shower. She was totally oblivious that her lover had suffered a far worse ordeal on the very night by the same assassin who had pursued Little Kevin. Shakira jumped into the shower. She was out sooner than she went in. She dressed hurriedly then carefully placed the green sac over her shoulder. It was much heavier than she expected. She reached for the key of a Kia Sorento Little Kevin had instructed her to use to carry out their plans. She then unlatched the front door before bolting out into the semi-darkness of dawn.
****
Little Kevin awakened to Shakira’s fading but welcoming fragrance. Since their separation, he’d never really gotten over her. He shifted the curtain over the nearest window to take a quick peek outside. The Sorento was gone and so was Shakira. Undoubtedly, she had begun to carry out their carefully orchestrated plan. His mind began to form images of the man in black who had attacked him. Shortly after his narrow escape, the man in black had taken off after Smallmoney and the fisherman in a black Mercedes. Smallmoney wanted to leave the island the very night and had reluctantly called the fisherman. He’d overheard their last dialogue; the fisherman was bent on getting paid upfront before transporting Smallmoney.
The lump sum of cash was now in his possession and travelling out of the island had become impossible for his friend.
Little Kevin’s next move was by all means to connect with Smallmoney but first he had to rid himself of the Land Cruiser in his garage. He thought of Shakira again and wondered whether he had made the right decision to entrust her with all the money. Two million dollars was a hell a lot of cash to entrust a woman with – especially someone he was involved with.
Little Kevin couldn’t think of another person to trust under the circumstances. Shakira held many of his dangerous secrets and had never threatened to reveal any of them even now that they were apart. Little Kevin never truly understood what it was that Shakira saw in her current lover; he was just an oversized fisherman for God’s sake.
‘ Never mix business with women.’ a menacing inner voice reminded him of one of Smallmoney’s sayings. He was interested in finding out what the fisherman’s reaction would be had he found out that his sweetheart had been nailed by another man the night before. A more threatening thought occupied his mind. If the fisherman discovered the money he could easily persuade her to escape the island with him; after all they were two lovers and two million dollars could easily forgive her infidelity.
If that were to happen, it would inevitably start a war between Smallmoney and himself because half of the cash belonged to him.
Little Kevin stretched across the bed and switched on his radio. A woman was explaining something to do with precautionary measures for earthquakes and tsunamis. Little Kevin could care less about natural disasters. He needed tips on his next move to escape in the event the assassin came looking for him. He switched to another radio stationjustintimetocatchthemorningnews.
‘ It is reported that the Caricom heads of government will be meeting in Antigua today to discuss issues affecting the Caribbean Community and to plot a path for the next five years. The occasion is the 35th regular meeting of the conference of Caricom heads.’
Little Kevin showed little regard for politicians. He viewed them all as crooks and vagabonds with decorated statuses. Talks about Caribbean integration and free movement circulated for a number of years but it seemed like discussions between and among heads of states proved to be much more fruitful than actual action. It seemed like they all accepted and toyed with the idea but ironically fought feverishly to maintain their sovereignty.
‘ In order news, a man identified as Ernard Mason a.k.a. Smallmoney was found dead along the Bolans Highway.’
Little Kevin was already off the bed and headed towards the shower. He halted in his tracks on hearing the news.
‘What!!!’ he couldn’t fathom the news that was coming from the radio. He and Smallmoney went as far back as high school days. They stood behind each other through thick and thin.
As the older friend, he had initiated Smallmoney into the life of drugs, money, women and crime but his friend’s natural savvy and insatiability for power had elevated him to the leadership of their gang. He was now no more.
‘ Police is also reporting the stabbing death of a fisherman identified as John silver. The body was found on a fishing boat that is docked at the St. John’s harbour and is owned by the brother of the deceased, Mr. Baptist Silver.’
News of the second murder unhinged Little Kevin. The deceased had bought crack-cocaine from him on numerous occasions. He was the younger brother of the same fisherman who had escorted Smallmoney just a few hours ago. Their deaths were by no means coincidental.
Little Kevin’s blood turned a river of boiling rage. He was certain his name was now imprinted on the assassin’s hit list. He had two choices now; he could either flee the island or prepare to wage war with the assassin. I was born in this land…I will die in this land…nobody is going to run me. Little Kevin prepared to confront the worst of situations. He wasn’t a hitman but he had enough training under his belt to disarm any attacking opponent.
His involvement as a gang member had also rewarded him some experience with guns.
‘ I am going to face this motherfucker head on.’ Little Kevin’s anger mounted. He took a few steps backwards then reached for a fully loaded .45 colt that was hidden under the bed.
He fast forwarded his paces to the shower. He positioned the revolver in a concreted pocket in the bathroom wall above the sink. He entered the bathtub then shut the shower curtain. Little Kevin aggressively spun the shower knob. A full sprinkle of unbearably hot water connected with his face. Shakira had forgotten to adjust the lever. As soon as he switched off the lever, a dark shadow filled the bathroom doorway. Little Kevin’s entire body went numb. His feet grew weak and heavy.
Thirteen ……………
Lance Cruisner occupied one of the front row seats at the conference of Caricom heads. He always made a concerted effort to attend Caricom meetings irrespective of the island they were being held. Lance had established an empire in Antigua that included Water World, a chain of restaurants, and part ownership of a firm of lawyers among other businesses. Lance had his eyes set on other Caricom islands. Attending those meeting furnished him with information that helped him determine whether newly implemented policies were favorable for potentially extended investments.
‘We are all aware of the economic difficulties experienced across the Caribbean community.’ the newly elected Prime minister of Antigua and Barbuda was the new chairman of Caricom.
‘We look forward to formulating a regional management mechanism that will target strategic integrative priorities such as economic resilience, environmental resilience, social resilience, and technological resilience.’
A few days before the conference, Lance was invited to a private dinner with the newly elected Prime minister. The Prime minister assured him that his government would be more aggressive than its predecessor in resolving a decade’s old trade dispute with the USA.
The successful resolution of the ongoing dispute would maximize Lance’s profits significantly. It would also make room for further investments which meant more jobs and a major boost for the Prime minister and his newly elected government.
The Prime minister’s speech concluded with a standing ovation. Heads of governments from various Caribbean islands embraced their newly elected comrade. They were a cadre of men that would take any measure necessary to remain in power. They never ceased to amaze Lance. In reality, it really was men like him with incalculable fortune that retained power. He often wondered what kept politician motivated.
While still young and inexperienced, Lance had his own political motivations.
A multi-millionaire spotted his ambitions and had invited him to a discussion over dinner. The instruction he had given Lance had forever altered his perception of wanting to become a polit
ical figure. The wealthy man had begun their dialogue by asking why he wanted to become a politician. Why not expend your energies into becoming a wealthy businessman instead?
Lance hadn’t quite understood where the conversation was going but the millionaire had explicitly compared the life of a politician to an accomplished businessman.
‘Young man…as a politician, your life becomes an open book. Everything you do will be scrutinized and left wide opened for public criticism. There will be no privacy during your travels and your family life will be closely monitored. You will experience no shortage of character assassination and carefully orchestrated besmirchment by your enemies. Moreover, you will be secretly knocking the doors of wealthy businessmen to fund some of your projects and of course your campaign. Your job will never be a secured one as in the case of all politicians – it will be but for a season. You will discover the hard way that many individuals you have extended help to along your journey will not think twice to vote you out of office then later pretend they have never known you. In order words, you become the true face of power but in reality, power really lies in the hands of the wealthy businessmen who operate in the shadows. On the contrary, becoming a wealthy businessman to a great extent accords you a private and peaceful life. Your family is free from public harassment. You get to travel the world freely without having to explain your travel details to the general public. Politicians will pursue you to fund their campaigns.
As a result, you garner unrestricted influence over key government policies. And young man, that is where true power lies!’
The prudent admonishment from the millionaire stayed with Lance for a lifetime and had somewhat shaped his career path. He only wished the wealthy man was still alive to witness the manifestation of his spoken words.
To a great extent, it was Lance among other influential businessmen that kept the island’s economy buoyant. The speakers of the conference took a brief intermission to absorb the sweet melody of a leading Caribbean singer from the nature Isle whose song (Celebrating Caricom) had just been selected as the Caricom anthem.
Fourteen ……………
Little Kevin gauged the distance where he’d placed the gun. Adrenaline raced through his veins. His next move had to be quick and cautious but his nerves were getting the better of him.
He recklessly tore the shower curtain apart and took a dive for the .45 colt. The dark shadow evaporated swiftly leaving an imprint of a black jacket somewhere in Little Kevin’s mind. He was convinced it was the same jacket the man in black had worn during their first encounter.
Little Kevin wrapped a towel firmly around his waist then started towards the bedroom. He positioned the gun firmly in front of him. He barely cleared the bathroom when something hard smashed into his wrist tossing the gun in the air. The .45 colt let off a loud bang as it connected with the bedroom floor. The dark shadow transformed into a real figure. The intruder slammed his shoulder into Little Kevin’s abdomen. The impact sent both men crashing into the bed detaching it completely out of position.
The assailant launched a quick blow to Little Kevin’s face. It was blocked off completely. He drove a second that caught him squarely in the face. The blow caused him to grimace in agony. Little Kevin immediately warded off a third punch. He released a sharp elbow to the assailant’s knee, a thump to the rib cage and a thunderous upper punch that jolted his attacker off him and to his feet. The man in black staggered two steps backwards. He repositioned himself directly over Little Kevin and was reaching for his weapon.
It was the first time Little Kevin had a full view of his face. Strangely enough he recognized the man. There was a determined fury in his eyes. The man pointed the gun in his direction but Little Kevin did a semi-acrobatic spin on the floor that connected powerfully to the back of the man’s ankle. The blow caught him off guard and swept him completely off his feet.
Little Kevin got to his feet and made a run for his gun across the floor. The man in black was fast. He smashed his foot into Little Kevin’s shin causing him to land on his stomach inches away from the gun. The man was by no means an ordinary attacker. He was a professional killer. The assassin held a firm grip on the Glock. He laid flat on his back with his head upwards and eyes trained in Little Kevin’s direction.
Little Kevin had no time to seize the .45 colt. He hoisted himself to his feet and dashed towards the front door. A gunshot roared behind him. There was an immediate burning sensation at back of his right leg. A second later, he found himself dropping to one knee with his hands clutched onto the door knob. The assassin was slowly getting to his feet and preparing to fire another shot. Little Kevin muster the strength to lift himself to one leg before opening the door and fleeing another gunshot that ricocheted inches away from him.
The jagged edged strike plate that was bolted to the wall caught part of Little Kevin’s towel and tugged it off him completely. There wasn’t enough time to retrieve the towel or to be ashamed of his nakedness. His life was in serious danger. Little Kevin hopped as fast as he could alongside the building. There was another .38 revolver hidden in the garage. He intended to use it as soon as he got there. He cleared the front of the house and was just about turning towards the garage when the assassin bolted out of the front door. Little Kevin quickened into a leap that landed him in front of the garage. He heaved the door upwards in sincere desperation. He had already begun yanking the door downwards when a sudden loud bang emanated from somewhere behind.
Little Kevin’s naked body dropped involuntarily to the uneven garage floor. The bullet struck him in the ankle. He was immediately reduced to a state of incapacitation. The garage door stopped inches away from the ground. Little Kevin tried to crawl forward but both his feet were paralyzed. The sound of heavy boots crushing dry leaves became prominently audible.
A magnified shadow pervaded the small opening in the garage door. Little Kevin’s heart began pounding out of control. He was incapacitated and cornered. Escaping the assassin became a fantasy. He instinctively shut his eyelids and prayed that whatever his assailant was about to do to him would end quickly.
A pair of gloved hands clutched the garage door and upheaved it slowly. The assassin stopped the door a few inches above his head making himself appear much taller. He started towards Little Kevin with the gun still firmly angled in front of him. There was one last desperate attempt by Little Kevin to crawl away but his body produced no strength. The gang life he lived for the past ten years began flooding him in flashes.
The assassin placed his boot on Little Kevin’s back and pressed it hard towards the ground.
‘Turn around!’ the assassin had a surprisingly mild intonation. He released the pressure on Little Kevin’s back. Little Kevin painfully rolled over to his side until he fell flat on his back. A hard boot instantly connected with his face. A sprinkle of blood from his mouth spiraled down his denuded body.
‘Where is the money?’
‘FUCK YOU!’ Little Kevin Spat out two of his teeth on the garage floor. Irrespective of the punishment that was about to be rained down on him, he wasn’t going to utter a word. Whether he spat out answers or not, death would still be his reward or punishment.
The assassin shuffled across the floor. He ransacked the hidden Land Cruiser but came up with nothing.
‘Where is the envelope?’ the assassin launch another brutal kick to his ribs. ‘FUCK OFF!’ Little Kevin was determined.
His last days as it seemed had crept upon him in a most disgraceful manner. He lay naked, immobilized, and was being beaten but he wasn’t going to snitch. He knew too well how these stories ended.
The assassin leveled a vicious kick to his abdomen. Little Kevin let out a guttural cry. Blood-spattered phlegm filled his mouth. There was a loud cracking sound like bones crushing bones as the assassin delivered a third kick to his jaw. He then lifted his weapon and pointed it to Little Kevin’s face. The unthinkable then happened.
The assassin lowered the weapon then stepped away from
him. He slowly turned around then took a few quick steps outside until he disappeared. It was as if he had suddenly remembered something that was more worthy of his time than finishing off his brutal mission. Little Kevin didn’t know what to make of the assassin’s sudden disappearance or what it was that had distracted him but he was thankful to still be alive. Little Kevin suffered excruciating pain. His body stretched helplessly across the garage floor. His mind started racing. Did he find out about Shakira? Was he going after her?
The creepy sound of boots crushing dry leaves returned. It was approaching much faster than previously. The assassin reappeared in the garage doorway. He replaced his gun with a red container and straightaway he started spouting a liquid from the container around the garage. The pungent odour of gasoline filled the air inside the garage. He took a stable stance over Little Kevin and soaked his entire body in gas. Little Kevin eyes widened with horror. The assassin recoiled then reached into his jacket pocket for a box of match.
‘ I am The Shadow…I am invincible…no one sees my face and survives.’ he moved away from Little Kevin’s body and towards the garage door. He cracked a stick of match and released it into a small puddle of gas. An instantaneous conflagration consumed the garage.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust you lying cocksucker were the assassin’s last words as he vanished away into broad daylight.
Fifteen ……………
Erik Barfknecht entered the super-stretched Escalade limousine that awaited him. It sparkled outside the New York state prison gates. Outside the walls of the prison he was known as E47B1, king of the streets of New York. Twenty six years in the penitentiary did nothing to topple his well established pyramid of criminals. His empire enjoyed a broader outreach and he became more attuned with the way the prison system operated.
Caribbean Rage Page 5
