A Brief History of Seven Killings (64 page)

—You gotta go? Action on the pier too busy to miss?

—The pier? You old, man. That place you’ll fall through the floor and get tetanus or some shit. Besides, nobody really goes there now ever since they start calling that gay cancer shit AIDS. They been closing some of the baths too.

—Oh really? Well how about we do this. You take those pants off, wait, wait, hold the fuck up. First take my fucking wallet out of your fucking back pocket, because this thing I got in my hand, you know this thing I just pulled out from under the bed, don’t have no flag saying bang when I pull the trigger.

—Jesus, Daddy.

—No Daddy bullshit. There’s a good boy. Next time you pick a guy’s wallet don’t wait around to make breakfast, you dumb fuck. Now about that something you’re gonna do.

I rolled over on my back, legs up in the air. Locked them both in the crook of my arms and spread open like a fucking flower.

—You better make sure you use tons of spit.

Fine, I wasn’t expecting a dossier or nothing but she was so sketchy on the Jamaican that he became mysterious by default. First I asked why not just let me take on Baxter’s hit and finish the job, but she said no, I gotta earn that shit first (yeah I noticed that she said first, making it clear by just hinting it, that there would be a second and maybe a third and who knows how much more). There was a Jamaican I had to rub out in New York and today was the once-in-a-lifetime chance to get it done right, her dramatic effect, not mine—Jesus I’m a fag. She wasn’t one for physical description other than saying he was a black-black and he’d probably have a piece on him. Brown Suit filled in with his address and basic M.O. One day in 1980 he just popped up with a fucking Cuban calling himself Doctor Love and
there he was. Griselda didn’t work with any fucking Cubans, not when she was trying to kill them all, so orders to work with the Cuban and the Jamaican must have come from Medellín. So here he comes like he owned Miami already with a deal to put Jamaica as the best middle point between Colombia and Miami, especially now, with fucking Bahamians fucking up the link and shooting up their own stuff. Griselda found out the Jamaicans have also been working with the Cali cartel and that was some fucked-up shit. But Medellín was okay with the Jamaicans and even showed their chain of command respect. She had work with them, something she didn’t like but couldn’t say no to. Just in the way she talked you could tell she didn’t like his posse sandwiching her, controlling the shipment from Colombia to the States and moving in on the boys selling crack in packets on the street. He said the Jamaican got his training from the CIA, which was probably bullshit but still something I had to watch out for.

Either way, he is in New York now and somebody wants him gone. She didn’t say who but made it clear it wasn’t her. I am just message bringer, she said. Didn’t matter much to me quite frankly, I never needed to know why anybody wanted anybody gone if they were willing to pay for it. But it was weird, even after giving me the hit she wanted me to stay and talk to her. She kicked everybody out. She lingered on him. Talking about how she heard he could never take a joke, never knew when somebody was bullshitting him or on the make for real, the result being that he once shot a guy because the guy said his fat lips were made for sucking his cock. I dunno, honko, you think Jamaicans laugh at the Jeffersons?
Three’s Company
? I tell you, that man never laughed at anything.

Anyway, somebody wanted him dead and it wasn’t over business as he was good for business. This was a rub-out ordered by a higher power. The higher up the power, the less sensible the reason. Griselda shut up, her bottom lip trembling, her face opening up to a sentence then cutting off before she said it. Something was not sitting with her right, something she wanted to talk about but couldn’t. It was out of her hands. That some ghosts from Jamaica were coming back for this guy in New York City. Whoever wanted him dead didn’t really care how, but I had one day, one night—tonight to be
specific. Hits were better at home, target’s way off guard. She said he would be home until probably late in the night. The house was probably thick with enforcers so set this shit up sniper style.

Whatever, I just wanted to get in, take him out and get gone. This trick was getting antsy, still staring at my wallet and looking over at my pillow. I had put the gun back but now I wasn’t sure what the fucker wanted to do.

—You gonna fuck me or what?

Josey Wales

I
was watching
my woman pack my Adidas bag when the phone ring. I was going to leave it but she stare at me with her you-think-you-have-maid-’round-here? look.

—Hello?

—Brethren, me hope you pack at least three breadfruit, ten sprat and a bucket o’ rice and peas for the I, zeen?

—Eubie. Wha’gwaan, brethren?

—You know the runnings. Just a take life easy still, you no see it?

—Then no must, man, sometimes you have to control a thing and make it work, till it can’t work no more.

—That me ah say. How the brethren?

—Cool, man, cool.

—Mind you know. Me know man like you don’t like take plane. You have passport and visa? Is not bus ticket run this thing, you know.

—Eubie, everything kriss.

—Wicked. Then Josey, you ever come New York before?

—No, star, only Miami. Businessman no have time for vacation, star.

—True, true. How the Mrs.?

—She would love to hear you call her Mrs. Damn woman a hound me for month now ’bout when we goin’ married like real uptown people and why we have to be so common-law and ghetto. Is you talking to her?

—Haha, no, star. But brethren, the Bible say a man who finds a wife finds a good thing.

—Then you calling me woman a thing, Eubie?

—Me? No. The Bible? You and God going have to take up that one. Although the Bible didn’t mean you to take it literal. You under—

—Me understand, Eubie. Don’t have to go to Columbia University to understand that.

—Awhoa. Anyway, me living in New York near ten years now and even me still can’t understand it. It going be really interesting to see what you make of it. New York, just like I pictured it, with skyscrapers and everything . . .

—Who that, the Jeffersons?

—Stevie Wonder, my man. You Jamaicans know the brethren did more than just “Master Blaster,” right?

Two minutes in and this is the second time Eubie trying to tell me that I’m ignorant.

—You Jamaicans? No just last week you jump off the boat in New York ’cause it wouldn’t stop?

—Hahaha, good one, Josey Wales, good one.

My woman just give me a who-the-r’asscloth-you-talking-to? look. She can tell how I feel about Eubie even though she never meet him. The thing with Eubie is that unlike everybody here who West Kingston have to raise, Eubie didn’t come from the ghetto. He fully form from before I even meet him. He have Bronx and Queens lock down with Medellín before I even think to leave Miami to the pussyhole Griselda Blanco, who prefer to deal with Bahamians anyway. And he take some of the best brothers from Copenhagen City from as early as ’77. The funny thing is I can barely remember him. He wasn’t from Balaclava, or Country or Gaza, but some good house with two good car and a good education too. I could tell from the one time he come visit and he was looking at everybody like he was at the zoo. And he was sweating right through his silk suit, but wouldn’t take the white kerchief out of the pocket to wipe him face. Plenty man in these runnings because this is where you find yourself, so you make do until you make big. But I don’t know. If I was him and come from where he come, is no way I would’ve find meself in this. Eubie is the only man I know who in this game for no other reason than desire. More than that, I think it do for him what
chasing down fresh pussy after fresh pussy do for some of these boys. A man with big ambition and small stakes. At the same time, for a man, who in just two minutes set himself up as man ’bout the town, he still sport that white kerchief because nobody in America know it mean the man more scared of Obeah than some people scared of the devil.

—So Eubie, you just couldn’t wait to hear me voice even though you soon see me, or you ah check me ’bout something?

—Woi, you sharp, Josey, anybody ever tell you?

—Me mother.

—Hah, well yeah, me call you ’bout something. Something me . . . Well anyway, brethren, the second you say is not my business me would just shut me trap ’bout the whole thing.

—What business, brethren?

—Well I did try to connect with your brethren Weeper ’bout the thing but I couldn’t get him and—

—What business?

—So Weeper didn’t call you? Me did think you was going tell me that that matter settle up long time. Is just when you all the way on Bronx and hearing ’bout Brooklyn business, you think, that’s not my affair, that belong to the man named Weeper. But as me say, me call him house with the number you give me long time and no Weeper. Him change him number?

—What business?

Eubie pause. He certainly not afraid of me so I know he’s not nervous. He taking him time, dragging this out. He wants me to know that he have something I want even if I don’t think so.

—Well when one of these things happen, it don’t mean nothing. Sometimes these basehead will skip from borough to borough to score as much rock as he can get, right? I mean, ah nuh nothing. But when six of them come all the way from Brooklyn to Bronx something must be up.

—You saying you get six customers from Brooklyn today? Maybe they don’t know where to go in Brooklyn.

—A where you come from, Josey Wales? A crackhead need him fix, trust me, motherfucker know where to go. He can’t afford to not keep that
shit local. Close proximity is crucial to success, my brethren, but of course me only telling you what you already know. Anyway, one my boys grab one them heads and ask him what him doing all the way in Queens, and him say he couldn’t deal with Bushwick no more.

—What happen in Bushwick?

—No your man Weeper run Bushwick?

—Wha’appen in Bushwick, brethren?

—The man say that two dealer suddenly charge twice what they usually charge, just like that. Me know you know we building a loyalty thing right here and we always looking for new customers but since me no remember you saying anything ’bout price increase, me surprise price just jack up in Brooklyn. I mean, that no make no sense, is because of price fixing why we don’t have too much movement from borough to borough?

—Hmmm.

—And another thing, my youth. Seems a couple of your dealers also using. I don’t know if that how things work in Miami, but over here that is always, always bad for business. One of them baseheads say he couldn’t find your dealer so he go in the crack house thinking somebody would give him a hit only to find the two dealer beaming up. The two of them! I mean, to r’asscloth how you can have your two dealer in the basehouse with line of people outside itching for base? And how the hell you can trust a crackhead to make a business transaction? And where them get it if they not burning out your own supply?

—Josey?

—Yeah, me hearing you.

—Hey my brethren, me just talking it as me see it. And when a man have to skip borough just to get two or three packet that sound like a problem. Make me tell you, in the Bronx me run a tight ship, even from the days when me just ’lowing little weed. Back in 1979 me set things up like any business, better than any shop, because I know from the devil was boy that you can never expand if your core base didn’t set right. I don’t take kindly to no kind of slackness. Worse if is my brother. You know what me tell the last man who fuck up? Me give him a choice, me say to him, My youth, this
is what I going do for you. You get to choice which eye you want to lose, the right or the left. If you car have a loose wheel, it soon fall off and kill everybody. And what go for Bronx also go for Queens.

I still can’t believe the man just call me a youth.

—Who hire them, you or Weeper? I mean, Weeper should have seen that and stamp it out quick-quick but then again, Weeper . . . Well you must know what you doing.

—Yeah.

—But I tell you, the last time I have a deputy start using it wasn’t long before me have to cancel the bredda. Because here is the thing, Josey, cocaine is not like crack. At least cokehead have some class and even if they didn’t have no class at least they have money. You can still manage that like a gentleman. Crack? That man will suck you dick or cut their own baby heart out to beam up. You can’t have that kind of fucker selling your shit? No, my youth. No way. But then you and Weeper go way back, right?

—Not that way back.

—Oh.

—Well I don’t know. As I say, you must know about Weeper. But you should at least check out what going on at your spot in Bushwick. Me, I go into every situation with a needle and a gun. Either I fixing you or I putting you out of your misery. You need me to go straighten out Bed-Stuy, Bushwick, or wherever, just say the word. I would need some more manpower but still I—

—I already tell you, Eubie, me have them place lock down. You deal with where you know. Anyway, call you when I reach.

—Huh? Oh yeah, sure. Call me.

I hang up. My woman still looking at me. I call Weeper and it ring without answer. I know she watching me because she know when I’m getting mad. I can hear her already saying to no bother show them things in front of the one pure child she have leave. I look at her looking at me.

—Is cool, man, stop look so, I say.

Weeper

Y
ou gonna
answer it?

—No.

—Don’t you have some buddy to pick up at the airport?

—I tell you about that? Not till later.

—At least turn the ringer off. It’s that thing in—

—I know where to find the fucking ringer. Where’s the K-Y?

—Dunno, it’s in this bed somewhere.

—Where?

—Said I dunno. Maybe you’re lying on it. Or it’s under the pillow beneath you. Know what? Roll over. Of course I maintain, I dunno what’s so bad about spit. Jamaicans are so weird about saliva.