Bad II the Bone (4 page)

Deacon shook his head in frustration.
   “I need to find those valuables and done dat bloodclaat St Thomas Obeah bwoy. There is nothing more important, do you understand me Minty.”

“
In the meantime he’s picking off our best men one at a time and we can’t stop him.” Minty looked solemn. “Can our plans stand up to dat?”
   “Believe me when I say breddrin, this is a race for survival and it is drawing to a close for him. I want what I want and him want, what him want. Him think pure power will do dis? Mi grow up inna deh street Minty. And if it is one ting mi learn, its punch above you weight but keep that secret close to yuh chest, yuh feel mi?”
   “But what of this voodoo ting, his powers ...”
   “He is not the only one who can draw on these forces. He is but a man motivated by revenge and greed like deh rest.  And if I was him I would stop at nothing. But him nevah count on me, count on dis.”
   He pointed to his forehead.
   “He is hurting us though,” Minty said levelly. “He’s murdered five of our best soldiers in the space of two weeks and he’s just disappeared into the mist without a trace. How do we deal with a duppy, especially one who can call on the darkness?”
   “Same way we deal with any bwoy who tink dem can muscle inna wi business. It’s deh same result Minty, just different tactics,” he gestured to the doorway.
    They both walked casually out of the room that Deacon had modified for arcane purposes and into a utility area that branched off into an expansive kitchen. Deacon headed for his wine rack and poured himself a brandy.

“What have
we learned from the network?” He asked.
   Minty’s eyes darted up to process the question and then in moments his gaze returned to the eyes of his friend.
   “I don’t want to raise your hopes up D but the informers have finally come up with a name for the driver. If this is the same man who Jimmy left the van with before he died, then we are one step away from the treasure.”
   “Bomboclaat!” He caressed the letters of the swear word as it left his lips. “Wouldn’t it have to be in the middle of a war that him finally decide to show himself? Three years of looking feh this man with no head nor tail of him, now suddenly him surface.” Deacon paused for thought. “But it could work to our advantage still. Ketch Darkman napping, maybe. Put as many soldiers on it as possible, yuh hear mi. And mek sure you remind dem to wear deh amulets blessed by the witchdoctor. It could save dem life.”
   “They’ll be ready.” Minty said.
   “By the way, what do you call dis bwoy. Him real name, I mean?” Deacon asked.
   “We only have an alias, so far. They call him Spokes. When Jimmy escaped the ambush it seems this guy secured the money and the goods.”
   Deacon nodded with an impatient glint in his eyes.
   “Then find him an’ bring him rass to me.”

Y’s Crib, Acton, West London

Friday, July 5th

06.00

Phase one of Operation ‘Wipe Tyrone’s Memory from Existence’ consisted of going through her flat with as much purpose as when she was spring cleaning and make sure nothing of him remained. Y stood in her modest lounge rubbing her fingers on the reinforced glass case and the fingerprint recognition lock that housed the dais
hō
- Masamune katana and Wakizashi – her prized samurai swords. If the insurance company had not advised her of the precautions she needed to take before they would insure it, who knows she could be looking at an empty space right now? But Tyrone was aware of the small fortune Pops had spent on keeping it secure and steered clear.
   Y opened the tempered glass case keying in the code to shut down the motion sensor and used her thumb print to unlock the securing rod that held the lid in place. She gently took the Katana from the environmentally controlled interior. Twice a year and sometimes when the mood took her she would practice with the six hundred year old sword.
   Her Pops had given it to her when she was five years old, much to Y’s mamma’s incomprehension but Mas Lenny was that kind of man.  As the story went in Lenny’s first year in Japan he befriended a destitute old man who camped outside of the hostel he used to live in. The old man - he called him General because of his military background - spoke good English and they became close friends. While he discovered Tokyo in the day, in the evenings he would sit with the General and be told the many stories of the samurai. The old man died in his arms six months into their friendship and left him his prized possession of a katana forged by master sword smiths in 13th century feudal Japan. It turned out to be worth hundreds of thousands of pounds and when she was old enough an invaluable part of Japanese history was given to her.
   Lenny had been travelling around the Far East for at least three years and by then he was adamant Y learned to use it one day. Y’s friends took guitar and flute lessons while she learned kendo. It became an obsession of hers to master its use and in time she became proficient.
   Y’s father’s philosophy of life was unique to only him, especially his unhealthy passion for all things oriental, but still a practical Jamaican who grew up in the ghettos of Kingston with an understanding of discipline and purpose. The relationship Pops had with Y’s mother was doomed from the beginning. Lenny’s wanderlust was fuelled by an opportunity to travel the world and after two years the union was in ruins. In letters that he sent to her every month from her tenth birthday onward he explained why he had to leave when he did. His charm and providence guided his fortunes and financially he was able to contribute to her upbringing. He wasn’t physically present for her but through his exquisite letters – they talked over the phone but Lenny loved the intimacy of the written word - she learned so much about him. With time and maturity Y understood why he had to do what he had done. There was never a doubt that he loved her, his destiny just wasn’t to be with her in the UK.
   Lenny married a wonderful Japanese woman called Yushi and Y had two younger brothers whom she met and loved immediately.
   Y slowly pulled the sword out of its scabbard and moved smoothly into Okimanzo strike, the blade perfectly balanced in her hands conflicting thoughts interfering with her focus.

What the hell, that couldn’t be helped.
    Y spun on the balls of her feet, a grimace pulling her lips tight. She lowered her centre of gravity, and whipping the sword with her as she moved as a blur every kata followed precisely and some were even created on the spur of the moment but all merging into a lethal ballet fuelled by her anger. The imaginary Tyrone did not stand a chance as she severed his arm and watched him fall to his knees screaming, arterial blood misting her with its warmth and then detaching his head with one upward stroke and as the body tumbled forward with her back to him she thrust the Katana under her arm and into his thorax, twisting the sword for maximum internal damage.
    The imaginary bubble popped.
    She held the position and felt a wave of satisfaction and disgust at the same time. Tyrone was scum and he had done what he had done, for reasons best known to him and Y had to live with it. But she did not have to be bitter. The virus of self doubt and hate that he had left behind like landmines set into the dirt of her subconscious need not be acted on.   

After all she was the master of her state of mind. And Y just could not allow Tyrone to dictate her emotions in his a
bsence. In that moment she let the thought of him dissolve away.
    Finally all that was left was the sensation of the katana in her hand, a inhaling of breath in her nostrils, its whistling through her throat and the rise of her ribs and stomach. The turbulence inside subsided and nothing else mattered but her breathing and a feeling of calm.

But for how long?

Y’s Bedroom

20.31

“Are you just going to lie there staring at the ceiling or are you going to get mad, swear, trash the place or something?”

Y asked Suzy the question, the sigh in her voice showing how much of a relief it was that
these twenty four hours were drawing to an end. She was already numb from the day’s events but was not surprised to hear that Suzy had been suspended from work pending an investigation into charges of grievous bodily harm from her earlier altercation.
    Then like a bad omen, Patra was bailed for serious traffic offences. Only after Y’s lengthy conversation with her arresting officers and the charmed brilliance of her mom’s solicitor that she was released on her own recognizance pending a day at the courts.
    If Y didn’t know better she would have thought someone somewhere was out to get them.
    Suzy Wong remained silent and instead shuffled her petite but tightly toned body over the king sized bed to allow her sister some space to snuggle up beside her. She adjusted the Kiss my Ass PJ’S around her waist, her top, short below the waist, showed her muscled midriff and jade piercing through her belly button. A multicolored and detailed dragon twisted around her left arm from shoulder to its magnificent head snapping at her wrists, successfully concealing burn marks.
    The crew had turned up at Y’s place with overnight bags and a sense of leaving their troubles outside the door. And that’s why it seemed so alien for Y not to be relaxed in the one place she called home amongst the few people she truly called family.
    Damn she should have known better.
    “I should be the one feeling like you, don’t you think?” Y’s voice sounded hollow to her as Suzy said nothing. “After all he took our savings from my account. I let him in and lowered my guard, loved the son-of-a-bitch, lived with him, was getting serious with him and that’s what we got.”
    Y sat on the edge of the bed, her XXL 49er’s linebacker top down to her thighs and her long dark legs crossed in front of her, looking absently through her bedroom door to the small landing beyond, her mind a swirl of hurt and anger. Detaching her focus, she reached over without looking back to the bottle of Asti that had sat in a bucket of ice for the last forty-five minutes on her small side table.
    “You guys did tell me, hinted as friends would and I just didn’t listen. Patra hated him, Suzy you were more diplomatic but I could see in your eyes you wanted to smack him around a bit but instead of finding out why I tried to make excuses.”
    Suzy, suddenly animated, gracefully rose from her prone position like a cat, gently grasping Y’s hand and taking the bottle from her. Deftly Suzy undid the wire restraint and popped the cork. Three glasses were filled and allowed to settle before handing Y a glass. After a few moments her brown eyes lit up, her expression resolute.
    “Patra weh yuh deh gal?” Suzy shouted out.
    “Chill bitch, I’m here.”
    Cleopatra came around the corner in all her naked glory, the towel on her shoulder, her muscular body mainly dry with patches of sheen on her legs and shoulders.
    Anyone would look at the statuesque figure, flawless skin - notwithstanding some bruising from her kickboxing classes, and proportions that needed no modifications from the brush of an Old Master and an aura that smoldered with the intensity for life even when others around her thought she was
nuff
. From the aggressive sway of her hips when she walked, as if life was a catwalk and she was its model, to her honesty, was vintage Patra. She was the most real person they knew.
    “For you,” Suzy said offering her a glass.
    “What are we toasting?” Patra asked. “I thought we just got our asses robbed.”
    “A new beginning,” Suzy replied. “One we’re forced feh accept whether we want to or not.” The statement was free from malice or accusation as was Suzy’s way.
    Everyone raised their glasses.
    “New beginnings!” They chorused.

Y hesitated to take a sip having difficulty accepting Suzy’s optimistic view on what could only be considered a disaster in anyone’s eyes.

She brought the glass to her lips, a dark anger seething below the level of awareness and one that desperately required an outlet to be vented. Y wanted anger to be expressed not reasoned, something to justify what she had allowed to happen. A strong black woman who had given her heart and trust without the required cynicism a woman was trained to exhibit. That was a philosophy she never personally ascribed to but her openness hadn’t just affected her but her family too.
    Patra joined the huddle of women on the bed, her back to them, her butterfly tattoo at the base of her spine. She leaned on Suzy and Y, letting her head loll between their backs, smelling fresh and her skin cool to the touch.
    “I’m feeling your pain babe and I know you feeling guilty about this shit but it could have happened to anyone of us. We don’t blame you.”
    “Come on sis, yuh know Patra reasoning mek sense.”
    “I knew you two would react like this but you can’t help me feeling guilty about it. Tyrone duped me, duped us and I’m pissed. That bastard took our dreams from us man, I can’t be cool with that.”
    “We not cool sugahhh,” Patra said. “But we gotta accept the facts. Motherfucker Tyrone took our money, played us like a ten dollar whore and I want his nuts between a vice, you feel me.”
    Y smiled at Patra’s directness and the amusing package of her delicate high pitched voice. For those who didn’t know her very well they were always surprised by her street lingo and profanity. They stereotypically expected those character traits from Y, the fit, feisty dark skinned one not the statuesque, light skinned sister with the twinkle in her eyes and butter couldn’t melt in her mouth smile. After their initial shock - even with the sexy lilt from the southern states of the US - what they wouldn’t know was how much of a good soul she was, kind, selfless and loyal. And Y knew the world did not have an abundance of such people.
    Y squeezed Patra’s hand.
    “I just can’t help thinking you blame me.”
Suzy kissed her teeth loud and long.
    “Yuh know that’s not true gal. If yuh going to start thinking like that yuh might as well blame me for not being stronger.”
    “Yep,” Patra nodded in agreement, the word flipping out of her mouth petulantly.
    “I should have kicked that Motherfucker’s ass as soon as he tried to flip shit and breakdown our friendship.”
    “Nip it rass, in deh, bud.” Suzy added. “He felt odd, sis. His whole vibe, from day one but nothing screamed out about him. That alone was strange.”
    “Maybe we misunderstood him? He was unfamiliar, so you read him wrong.”
    Patra sighed, rolling her eyes.
    “Don’t let me pop you upside your head giiiirl. Tell me you didn’t just try to make excuses for that thieving cocksucker?”
    “I just thought…”
    “No you didn’t think queen bitch.” Patra looked over to Suzy exasperated. “You tell her before I get tribal on her ass.”
    Y knew it was the frustration of people who cared; finishing her Asti she placed the empty flute on her side table.
    “Yuh don’t know the full story baby.” Suzy said. “Him aura was vivid in mi face, not evil dark, just a conniving light blue. I smelt old money and grease, tasted steel and coffee. Me know him have a mischievous aura but that doesn’t make him bad. I wanted to talk to you about it but you wouldn’t have taken it seriously. We decided to spare yuh the details.” Suzy said calmly.
    “And now.”
    “Well at deh time we thought wi had your best interest at heart.” Suzy said.
    “You felt I couldn’t accept that, after everything we’ve been through?”
    Suzy nodded.
    “You were happy babe.”
    “I was a fucking fool.” Y said.
    “Hindsight is a bitch sugahhh.” Patra concluded. And we both know Suzy has the touch, she can sense shit. We need to give her gift more respect.
Y nodded.
    “We hope him, would show him colors to you and you would drop kick him rass but he was smarter than we gave him credit for.”
    “As I said we should have bum rushed his bitch ass.”
    “The worst feeling is that I was sleeping with this bastard and my instincts told me nothing. What does that say about my choice of men?”
    “It stinks.” Patra stated plainly.
    “Coming from someone whose relationships last in deh region of hours at a time, dat’s rich.” Suzy said.
   Patra shrugged and grinned.
    “What now?” Y asked.
    “What to do but carry on.” Suzy said.
    “With what?” Y sounded exasperated.
    “We alive ain’t we?” Patra jumped up, arms pointing to the ceiling. “Let me tell you what I’m going to do now. I’m going to update my Facebook profile, drop kick that chicken shit outfit called a courier company I work for and find someone who appreciates my hard working ass.”
    Y spluttered in the background.
    Suzy sighed staring into the middle distance.
    “I hand in mi uniform next week then start looking around feh something part time.” She looked at her sisters with sad eyes. “I haven’t told him yet.”
    “What do you think he’s going to say?” Y asked.
    “Is what Paul won’t say that worries me. He will cover our mortgage wid out question. I’m just not sure whether him getting tired of me an my drama.”
    “You mean our drama.” Patra corrected her.
Their rock and ghetto oracle sounded forlorn, not something they saw often from Suzy and it was attacked with optimism from quarters where optimism wasn’t second nature.
    “It will work itself out,” Y said.
Suzy agreed.
    “It will work itself out. But nuh fret, Tyrone nah get away wid it. I promise you dat.”
    “Hell no! I told you I got plans for that motherfucker, recognize.”
    “You an’ me both but nuh worry, him time a guh come.”
    “But why us Suzy?” Y asked. “Why now after all the hard work and graft to get to this point just to see it dragged from us?”
    “It’s a shift. It can’t be anything but dat.” Suzy said.
    Patra, with the towel over her shoulder scratched her head playfully. Y gesticulated for Suzy to keep going.
    “It’s another life changing event, yuh know like the bank robbery. A turning point in all our lives dat brought us together.”
    “So we are the lucky ones again, the chosen ones.”
    “What the fuck did I do in a past life?” Patra piped up.
    “C’mon girls, deh world is a big place. Yuh don’t honestly believe we are the only people experiencing this. No way. But we will be the ones who will accept what has been given to us, rolling wid the blows and adapting. When our destiny presents itself we will accept it.
    “Remind me, what is our destiny?” Y asked.
    “Mi nuh know.”
    “Great.”
    “We are but tools and fate will use us how it sees fit.” Suzy recited.
    “Shakespeare?” Patra asked.
    “No, Grandma Wong,” Suzy laughed.
    “Talking about fate, I left a message on John’s mobile just after this shit started today. He hasn’t returned my call yet.”
    “You don’t mean Detective Sergeant John ‘the dick’ Shaft of the Metropolitan Police Force?” Patra parodied the tones of a southern belle in some Gone with the Wind drama.    “Don’t play,” Y said seriously. “He’s a gentleman.”
    “You can’t blame a girl for trying. All I know when I see him I just want to bite a chunk out of that chocolate booty. That nigga is fine.”
    “Him nuh have eyes feh the likes of you miss hot stuff, he’s sweet on Y.”
    “Don’t even start with that ‘we should be together’ bit. John is a pro and he’s got more pressing things on his mind than me.”
    “Pressing it may be baby but what’s pressing is not on his mind,” Suzy couldn’t resist.
    “All I know,” Patra shuffled on the bed as if the mention of DI Shaft made her uncomfortable. “Is if any cat is glad that lame dick son-of-a-bitch Tyrone is gone, Shaft is that man. Every nigga deserves a chance sugahhh.”
    Y’s silence only meant that the thought had crossed her mind before.
    “Suh let’s make another toast,” Suzy announced. Y poured some more Asti into their empty glasses, watching the effervescence settle.
    “To battles fought and won.”
    “Battles!”
    Their glasses met in the gesture of a toast, crystal clinking and the sound resonating as they pulled away in unison to sip from their glasses. That’s when they saw a weak glow connecting all three flutes. This wispy flutter of light became more intense as the girls looked on in hushed amazement, the hairs on their arms standing on end and their breaths caught in their throats. The glasses almost sang as they vibrated a beautiful varying pitch that made their arms tingle, maintaining the tone of the glasses song like a soprano in an opera. Not wanting to break the connection themselves they watched it as the overtones rose to a heady crescendo and slowly died out, dissipating as if it never existed. They lowered their glasses in incredulous silence.
    Suzy grinned and said.
    “Ladies I tink we’ve just been given a sign.”