A Brief History of Seven Killings (43 page)

Farther down this road is Port Royal and Fort Charles that everybody done know. But few people know the beach bush hide two more forts including this one. I stick my head out the window and watch the last sun streak turn orange, then pink, then nothing and I can hear the sea growing wild even over the car engine. Me and Tony Pavarotti driving to the lost fort in between the sinking sun and the rising moon and the disappearing shadow. We make a sharp left through prickle bush and swing over a rough bump. Me hold the door like a man that can’t drive. We ride over a mound, that look like a mountain top, because from the top is a steep drop right down to the beach. Bumpy ride down, swing to the left then right, pull you hand into the car before the prickle bush slash the window—my hand would be bleeding right now. Down, down, down. The car swing left, again then right, then jump—we going roll over right now, have to, how this bloodcloth man can so calm and don’t say nothing but grip the steering wheel like race car driver? The car skidding down, me about to shout out hey! But then we brake. Tony Pavarotti slow the car down to crawl as we come the thin strip of beach up to the entrance of the fort. No gate so we drive in. Kingston is a now place across the sea.

The car stop. Tony wind down him window and climb out in one swing, like is the style. Him on the right, me on the left, we both reach the trunk the same time. He stick the key in and fly it open. If the first boy could scream he would scream at the weak light, this is for sure the most brightness them see in three hours. It did take all me rage to push the last two in the trunk meself for me would a deal with them from long before, almost two year before, but by now me no have none of that left, nothing left to pull the first one out but two hands. Him light like a feather when me grab
him by the collar. The handcuff behind him back stain sticky with blood and his wrist white where black skin supposed to be. He smell like shit and iron. Boy bawling over tears so him cheek and eyes red and him nose have booger running down over booger. The man Tony Pavarotti pull out just the same, both of them stink and also wet from them own pee-pee.

On the way over here me did all set to ask them, You remember the beach, pussyhole? You remember when you pull gun ’pon the Singer ’cause other man fuck up your samfie business but you want him fi pay for it? You did know then that him mark you face? You did know you was dead from the second you pull gun ’pon the man? You might as well did pull gun ’pon God. Me did have all them things fi say to the two but now, in the fort where Spanish man and British man and Jamaican man dead over years and years, reminding me that one day me too soon dead, me don’t have nothing to say. And Tony Pavarotti never ever say nothing.

But them saying plenty. Even with the gag me can make out letter and word and sentence. Each blink of their red eye fierce and squeezing out tears. Beg you, Papa do, me never did involve, look how me still poor. Beg you, Papa do, the Singer did already gimme mercy. Beg you, Papa do, all me know ’bout is the horse race, me no know ’bout the ambush in the night. Beg you, Papa do, make me go out to sea and me will swim ’way like mermaid to Cuba and never come back to Jamrock again. But me don’t care. There is a bunch of man who ambush the Singer in the night. There is a bunch of man that pull gun on him at the beach ’cause they drag him into horse race con-plan fuckery him never have nothing to do with. A wind in the air say them was one and same man. Another wind say them be two different entity. But even to that me run out words to say. Me just don’t care. Them drive a gash between me and the Singer, a cut that heal but leave a scar. Man must get punish for drawing gun and man must get punish for firing it too. The devil who standing waiting at the gate of hell can do all the sorting out. All this me think to say to the two, but don’t. Me, Papa-Lo, the biggest most magnificentest man in the ghetto. Me might as well be Tony Pavarotti. He already dragging the first one through the bush, out onto the black sand beach.

The trick, the whole thing is, the whole reason was to bring him back, not for good but to knock down the first domino. To bring him back for this concert though we already talking things bigger than that. Better than that. Things, boy, I don’t know, Jamaica, you ready for it? My head hopeful but not at ease, it so uneasy that the only thing that put it to rest is remembering that poor Papa-Lo heart never at ease. I mean, what make sense in England don’t must make sense here. England is England and London is London and when you in a city so big you also start to think big and talk big and you foretell grand tidings and then you come back to Jamdown and you wonder if your head did swell TOO large.

Plenty people even in the middle of sufferation going pick the bad they know over the good they can only dream about, because who dream but madman and fool? Sometimes war stop because you forget why you fight, sometimes you tired of warring, sometimes people who dead come back to you in you sleep and you can’t remember them name, and sometimes you come to see that who you supposed to fight not even your enemy. Look ’pon Shotta Sherrif.

The beach is sand until it reach the sea. There it change to rock that roll and tumble with the waves and cackle like a woman duppy when more waves rush in.
Kekekekekekeke
. Tony Pavarotti drag the boy right down to where sea hit sand and kick the back of him knee so that he fall like he about to pray. And then he do. Quick and wild, like he can’t get one word out before he rushing out the next.
Kekekekekekeke
. The boy in him white brief that yellow in the front, brown in the back. Tony Pavarotti in navy blue—soldier shirt with epaulette and plenty pocket and gabardine pants roll up over him soldier boots right above the calf. Him steady the boy head slow with both hand, almost soft, almost like he taking care. The boy mistaking the soft touch for mercy. He crying again and him head shaking too much. Tony still him head again.
Kekekekekekeke
—pow.

The boy in my hand scream into the gag, but he also go weak and I have to drag him to the beach. Water don’t reach him pants yet so I know the new wet is fresh piss. Tony leave the car on and I can swear I hear the radio, but is probably just the rock.
Kekekekekekeke
. I drag this boy right beside the
other body and push him down on him knee. I did make him keep on him green shorts. I steady him head but he turn just as I pull the trigger. Pow. Pow through the side of him temple and an eye pop out.
Kekekekekekeke
. He twitch and fall. Tony Pavarotti point to the sea, and I say no, leave them.

Lockdown remind you that what make you brothers is not blood but sufferation. And when as brothers you suffer together you also get new wisdom together. Because I pick up a new wisdom the same time as Shotta Sherrif and when we take a stop and realize say we really of the same mind we take the reasoning to England and realize the Singer have the same wisdom too. In fact he wiser since him did run him own house under that wisdom where for a long time enemy used to meet as friend, even when we fight like wild animal everywhere else. People think this is about a concert or is about white man from the PNP shaking hands with white man from the JLP, like you can fix cancer with a vaccine. Even me did know this concert was nothing and me was the one who pull up Seaga onstage meself.

Shotta Sherrif was on the stage but then him jump and start follow around Mick Jagger who was walking up and down and reasoning with the people and vibing with the rhythm like he don’t know the grounds swarming with bad man. Every minute he flashing that big teeth grin.
Make we kidnap Mick Jagger and hold him for two million dollars
, Shotta Sherrif say as joke but then he watch Mick Jagger dip in and out of the crowd and I know he start to think it for real. For white boy let loose and grin like rich politician pickney talking ’bout them trip to Mi-yah-mi. Shotta chase off what he say with a hahahaha but the Singer did hear him and shoot him a look Moses only wish him did have in
Ten Commandments
. Anyway, make them think he come back just to sing pretty song ’bout love just ’cause him make pretty album. Make him go to sleep while we work like Nicodemus. Because when me and Shotta Sherrif done talk ’bout planning the concert, we didn’t stop talk, and we still talking now. The sun setting.

Tony Pavarotti driving the car and a song come on the radio.
Do it light, do it through the night, shadow dancing
. I know this song. My woman love it, say is some man named Gibb sing it. Me ask her how she know and she shoot back,
So you think me is ignorant woman?
I laugh because me been
dancing with shadow in the dawn and in the night. Even in broad, bright daylight we searching for dark. It take four day to round up all the man from the horse racing con-plan who pull gun ’pon the Singer. One night to put them in the cell that up to few years ago me, the don of all dons, was the only man in Copenhagen City who didn’t know ’bout it. Josey Wales have yet to explain that one to me.

Early morning we take the first two out, only because them jump in front and was making the most noise, the first man ’bout how the naked man duppy with blue flame drape around him skin and long shark teeth was eating they flesh all night and covering they mouth so they couldn’t scream. The duppies slap them across the cheek and punch them in the face one two three four times like a jackhammer. Both man eyes did swell and wet for true. The first man point to him chest saying the duppy eat out him heart even though him chest have no mark. The second one didn’t stop bawling ’bout the snake eating a way out through him head until it crawl out of him left eye, see the hole, he say while pointing to him eye. All of them blabbering about the devil spit on they face when they wake up. The two wouldn’t stop so we stuff they mouth with calico cloth and throw them in the car trunk. When we drag them out to the car they don’t even struggle. We take them to a part of Hellshire Beach that now closed off with a No Trespassing sign. They walk of they own free will, which bother me. Me no like see people so ready for what come next, so me push one with the snake in him head and he stumble. And he still don’t say nothing, just get up and keep walking.

Tony Pavarotti put him hand on the first one shoulder to push him down but they both kneel down fast and close them eyes, whispering what sound like prayers. When the snake in the head man open him eyes they wet and he nod again like he saying do it now, do it right now, I can’t wait any longer. Tony Pavarotti walk behind them and shoot both quick. Even the baddest gunman bawl like baby for him life, but them boys quiet. Me wonder what them life come to, when a man could be so ready to dead. Duppy dressed in blue fire, to shit. I wonder what going wake me up in the middle of the night?

When evening come we take out the other two. Time is coming, passing and running, and I know it leaving me behind, but damn. But damn if Josey going make that happen to him. He going run ahead of time and say, Look, pussyhole, me reach before you, me beat you just like you beat me in 1966. He leave all this to me, for he still never give no damn ’bout the Singer. Josey taking meetings with the Cuban who back again even though for all him bombing and dynamite couldn’t make JLP win in 1976.

Many more will have to suffer. Many more will have to die. When Babylon come for me and take me out of the way so man can shoot up the Singer without me trying to stop it, Babylon also come for Shotta Sherrif. People from both sides start to think that we the don of dons no longer have any use. Put puss with dog and just bring a bucket for the blood. They think if them put all of we, man from Copenhagen City and man from the Eight Lanes, in the same lockup and throw away the key then we bound to kill each other. But something did die in jail, something die for real.

The first day we circle each other like lion and tiger who get stuck in one jungle. Me sit in a cell in the east and find man loyal and ready, since at all times a good number of man from the ghetto reside in jail. Shotta Sherrif rest in the west with man loyal to him. Both of we get news of the other whereabouts and roundabouts and nobody fall asleep without at least two eye watching. Didn’t take long for man to hatch a plan. A man on my side act on him own and try to cut down one of Shotta man. Shotta Sherrif send message he going cease one of my man in retaliation. Me send message that me never attack him so why him going attack me? He send message that one of my man pull out a dinner knife and cut a mark like a telephone in another man face when them go out for exercise. Me send message to Shotta Sherrif saying he should name the man.

Treetop. That who it be in the message that come back. The next time we go out in the open me walk up to Treetop meself and say, My youth, a long time me a check you still fi move up in the ranks, make me see you knife.

—Papa, then no must, him say.

—Me going need you to prove to me what you can do by cutting a PNP pussyhole, me say while me holding him knife and testing how it sharp.

—Papa, him say—me more previous than that. Tuesday me done mark a youth. You want me deal with Shotta Sherrif case?

—What a way you eager, eh? No my youth, you no need to do that, but learn this, me say and ram the knife right through him neck and up him throat. Then me ram him again three time in the side of the neck while my men make a wall. Then we all break away leaving the little pussyhole spraying blood on the ground and jerking like headless chicken.

Shotta Sherrif send message later, saying is true time we fi talk. When puss and dog kill one another the only one who win is Babylon. Me take this reasoning and me reason ’pon it more. Babylon is a country, Babylon is a shitstem, Babylon is oppressor and Babylon infiltrate with police. Babylon get tired of waiting so he put head puss and head dog in lockup for them to kill each other quick, but a different vibration come down ’pon the lockup. A positive vibration.

Me and Shotta Sherrif play domino all the time after that while Babylon hovering outside, and the only eye him got is the police. I hear him reasoning, he hear my reasoning and the two of we make a new reasoning. Me release from jail first, and in January them release Shotta Sherrif. First thing him do is find me. That night, January 9, 1978, people with me and people with him put down gun, light candle and start sing we ain’t gonna study war no more. That night Jacob Miller come through with a new tune, a boomshot from the natty, a hit song named the “Peace Treaty Special,” which shoot up to number one. Positive vibration. But learn this all nice and decent people, you walk into every situation with an injection needle or a gun. Some things you heal, and some things you shoot.