A Brief History of Seven Killings (47 page)

The bodies now swaying with the breeze but still otherwise. Everybody gone, the women gone, the man them gone, nighttime gone, the sky grey and seagulls screaming. And me can’t see the white man. We in the car. Now we in the car but the car stop long time ago. We going to McGregor Gully. No, we coming from the football match, me only thinking horse race because Lloyd in the car and him train horse. No, is April 22, 1978. Me never forget the day of a hanging. No, is February 5, 1979, me never forget the day of that idiot football match because me was talking to Lloyd about how he training me horse.

No, wait. Roll back the tape. Me head not sitting right.

Clouds grey and heavy, rain about to fall.

Trevor, why you always drive so bombocloth fast once you reach the damn causeway, is daylight you running from?

You know him, boss. Him can’t wait fi leave Portmore.

Can’t wait, eh? What this one name Claudette or Dorcas?

Haha, you how it be boss, them Portmore girl is nothing but vampire.

Stop giving them your neck and spend ’pon you pickney for a change. How ’bout that?

Good one, boss! Good one.

All this talk ’bout woman, how come is nothing but man in this car? Cho!

We can turn back and go check two thing, name Claudette and Dorcas, boss.

No sah, me no want Trevor what-left. Them gal there mash up. Serve no use now.

Woi, boss, you give too much joke.

Papa how you ah do me so? And is Lerlene and Millicent, not Claudette and Dorcas.

Claudene and Dorcent.

Lerlent and Millicene.

Haha.

The whole of unu mad. Lloyd, talk some sense to me.

Pussycloth. Boss. Papa.

Brethren, wha we a slow down for?

Boss . . . look.

A wha the r’asscloth this?

Four of them, boss. Babylon. Three bike park and four police. Red seam too. Stop?

No. Any of you see any parked car that we pass? Somebody must be coming up from the back soon.

Me nuh remember no car.

Then is what behind we? Cho r’asscloth. Lloyd, how far we be from the zinc factory?

’Bout a hundred yard, boss.

But we can’t take foot nowhere.

The car behind we stop, boss.

How much police? Not them three, how much coming out of the car?

Nobody coming out of the car. We stopping?

Slow down little bit. Shit r’asscloth shit.

If you don’t stop them going shower this car with bullet.

Is just four man on three bike.

Four man with AK, Papa.

Reverse and swing ’round.

Them would catch we easy, boss.

Catch we for what? After we nah hold nothing in the car.

Anything we do them going full we o’ lead, boss, that one have megaphone.

Hold on. Me know him.

Stop the cyar h’an come out with your ’ands h’up.

Trevor, Trevor stop the car. But don’t turn off the engine.

This h’is a routine spot check. Come h’out of the cyar with you ’ands them h’up.

Papa, don’t come out the car. Don’t come out of the car.

This h’is a routine spot check. Come h’out of the bombocloth cyar with you ’ands them h’up.

Papa, me no like it, star. Don’t come out of the car.

Look, we not going tell you four time, come h’out of the bloodcloth cyar, Papa-Lo.

I-is what this, Officer?

Papa, them know is you?

Officer, is what this?

Does me look like me h’in h’any conversating with you? You h’and your personnel need to make h’an evacuation from the cyar.

Brethren, throw the car inna reverse.

Right into the car behind we? You ah idiot or what? Papa, what you want to do?

Who in here have a piece? Me have me .38.

Not me.

Me neither.

Me train horse, boss.

Shit.

Papa, you not going like it h’if me ’ave fi tell you fi come h’out again.

Papa?

Come out of the car. We coming out, Officer. See we—

Not talking to the likes of you. Come h’out and stand right there so by the bush. Yes the bush across the road, eediot.

Easy no, pardner.

Me not you pardner, pussyhole. You think me ’ fraid of you?

You should be frai—

Trevor, shut you mouth. Where you want we, Officer?

You h’is a bombocloth deaf man or what? You want me say it slow? Remove from the vicinity of the cyar so that we can search the cyar. Move h’over to the left and keep walking till you is in front of the wild bush by the side of the road.

Papa, Papa you think them—

Shut up, Lloyd, just ease yourself.

You, Mr. Papa-Lo, you want to know why we stop you this h’evening?

Me no business with anything Babylon want.

Well, we certainly have to teach you some manners before the h’evening h’is through.

Suit yourself, Officer.

Sergeant, you wouldn’t believe what in here.

H’in the cyar?

H’in the cyar. Them owner radio.

A radio? In ghetto man cyar? How that work? Turn it on. Hold on deh, turn it up . . . louder. What a thing. Then Corporal you know how fi dance the disco? Spoon it right, spoon it through the night, shadow dancing.

Haha, after the song nuh go so, Sergeant.

You ah tell me how the song go? Is you and me did go to Turntable Club last night?

Last night? But we deh ’pon curfew, Sergeant.

Kibba you mouth. Inspector, in the mean time you want to give them four man a little search? Make it quick and pad down the cocky and batty, since them ghetto boy think we too fool to check it. Search Papa-Lo first. Yes man, spoon it right, spoon it through the night, shadow dancing, blah blah blah blablah, spoon it more, spoon it more-more-more, shadow danceeeeeeeng blah blah blah bla-blah. Yeah, man, is when you can do them disco moves that the girl them love you. Inspector, any of them over there doing the shadow dance?

No, Sergeant, but if you blink you might catch them do the hustle.

Corporal, anything else in the car?

Not a thing, Sergeant. Not a thing. Not a thing but this .38 revolver somebody think them was going hide under the passenger seat.

But what the bombocloth. .38? ’Pon the floor? Not you, Papa? Not a fine upstanding son of the soil lacka you. Is who fer gun fi real, your mother’s? Inspector, go take a look at the gun, while me and the constable watch them four. Is a real .38?

Real like me wife pregnant belly, Sergeant.

Kiss me neck. .38. Here is what me wondering now, Officers. This .38 we have here. This here .38. I wonder if is the same .38 Papa-Lo and him cronies use to fire at the police.

Hard to tell, Inspector.

Yeah, man, yo nuh remember? When Papa-Lo and him three cronies fire ’pon the police in what was only supposed to be a simple spot check? You four, keep you hands up.

Me no remember that.

Think ’bout it good and hard. Inspector, I see you already feeling what me talking ’bout. You nuh remember when Papa-Lo open fire ’pon the police? Fire from this same .38 and the poor police them did have no choice but to fire back?

When him do that?

Right now. Fire!

He fire from me own .38 and bullet burst a hole through me lip and blast away two teeth graze burn the tongue and the back of my head let air rush in and my blood rush out but we was just hanging two man, yes we hanging two man and the prophet Gad asking me where is the bloodcloth ring like me know anything about the Singer’s hands bullet YKK a zipper down me chest one two three four five six seven eight and there in him house is Peter Tosh on him knees after one bullet go through a woman mouth and blast ’way her teeth and Leppo push the gun ’gainst Tosh forehead and pow and pow again two more bullet for the man on the radio one bullet for the next man right in him back where it staying forever but is me getting shot me forming river of blood and piss between me legs and Carlton me see you, Carlton ’pon the rhythm while the wife behind you wrapping her pussy ’round the man who going kill you, Carlton! And the Singer have no hair anymore the Singer on a bed the Singer getting a needle from a white man who have a German Hitler sign burning in him forehead bullet
pop me finger off and mark me like Jesus Christ in my left palm no pain just quick burn me body have two dozen little fires but air rushing through me hear me body whistle Trevor and Lloyd doing the bullet dance they whip whip whip and turn and jerk and scream and cough and shake like they have fits bullets make them jump and me jumping too and me skipping gun shot like firecrackers from far away me neck speaking blood me mouth can’t open the angel of death sitting on the Singer shoulder the angel is a white man me see him already me know that now see him standing on a stage like Seaga and Manley and promise poor people sweet thing and then me neck crack me seeing meself doing the bullet dance like me watch theatre from a seat upstairs rising higher and higher, high over the causeway and sea and high above the seven cars coming and they all swarm down like flies the police all come out and they all walk up and fire one two three shots me down on the ground sinking into the asphalt and another police fire two shot take that pussyhole you not so bad now and another police and another police and another one pow pow pow get up and shoot we now nuh pussyhole gunman and police on the walkie-talkie saying guess who fer case we just deal with and more police come and everybody paying them tribute and this one aim for me neck pow and this one aim for me kneecap pow and this one aim for me balls pow and how come no car passing no car but police them block the road from far off they knew me was coming somebody in the ghetto is informer and tell them me was coming and Trevor face eat off and Lloyd chest and belly burst open and my head split open and me heart still pumping and another policeman stoop down and say this is for Sebert and fire straight through the heart and the heart burst and dead then he get up and go back to him car and the other policeman go back to them car and me rising higher and higher but me still on the road and I can see them all in a line the police cars they leave me and they driving with they sirens on so people shift out of the way and they drive as one animal a siren snake all the way up to the block that have the Minister of Security office and they circle the block ’round and ’round and ’round all the while laughing loud and me can see everything around and above and below and what happen ten year ago Peter Nasser with the first gun 1966 when me take in
Josey Wales and when me kill that school boy by mistake and what happening in a grey place as if me can do something and change it if I shout loud enough cut off the toe skip cut off the toe don’t listen to no bombocloth idiot Rasta who just sucking your blood through the chillum pipe cut off the toe and don’t make no Nazi touch you but the white man standing across the road the white man I know and I don’t know and he looking over through the bush right by the road the little swamp and in the swamp the driver swimming no blood from the shot good so no crocodile going after him and he swim and swim and swim and a fishing boat see him and motor over to pick him up and he climb in and shaking and bawling that all him do is drive taxi and the fisherman sail away and me not in the gully no more proclaiming judgment me wasn’t in the gully at all that was over a year ago and every thing was over a year ago and all that take place between the shot to my head and the shot to my heart in one blip all the last things me do in me life play out at once happening then and happening now and happening one after the other and also all at once but there is Trevor spooling blood still and Lloyd with death rattling in him throat and there is me, gentlemens. There is me.

Alex Pierce

D
o it light,
do it through the night. Shit’s gotta work. Cut that fucking song loose goddamn it, what the fuck. Keep this shit up and you’re gonna move, you’re gonna jerk or you’re gonna—I don’t know, I don’t fucking know—it’s going to make him know and you’ll end up a fucking murder scene, chalk line baby dig it, because you woke up with that fucking song shaking its polyester sweating ass in your head. Sooner or later, a cracker’s gotta pay for being the one white man who can move. Right side of my brain’s saying at least you bit it for a greater cause than “Disco Duck.” At least I might be still asleep. I must be. Tapping my fingers one by one against the pillow, four means dream, five means real. One two three four five.

Motherfucker.

But what if I’m dreaming this is real? What if I’m dreaming in a dream? I read somewhere that this is what happens when you die. Freaky shit, Jesus Christ. Breathe slow. Don’t breathe at all. No, breathe slow. Stop breathing. No, he will feel it, he will know you’re not asleep. I know what this is. I mean, gotta be, man, you’re just tripping off bad shit. You’re just crashing hard off bad shit, this is what you get for hitting C anywhere but 42nd and 8th, that’s where the steerer on 41st and 5th sent me. But hold up, I’m not tripping. I never trip in Jamaica. Jamaica is a trip all by itself, and Jesus Christ stop thinking so hard. Keep this shit up and you’ll start to think out loud—have I said anything? Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, Jeezuzchriiiiiist, stop it, stop it, fucking stop it, Alex Pierce. Chill out right now, chill the F.U.C.K. out. Close your eyes and try to catch up to that dream that got away from you, go off and catch that dream, and when you wake up there will be no man sitting on the edge of your bed. Better yet, there will be no man opening your door, walking in just as you’re waking up, because you
never really went to sleep and couldn’t really sleep on this torture-chamber bed. No man walking in, going over to the window to pull in the drapes, reaching in his shirt for—don’t look, don’t fucking look, and sitting on your bed. No series of clicks and clacks and ticks and locks. Close your eyes. Simple as that, this will work, THIS WILL WORK.