Kingston Noir (19 page)

But …

There was a but here, a big one that she couldn’t leave at the gate. Dig one grave here, you going end up digging two, she thought. The driveway was empty, she noticed. Like the Land Rover was parked in the back.

She was about fifty yards past the gate when she heard a screech ahead of her and saw the red Saab slide out of a side road like it was in a rally, wheels turned one way and backskidding the next, before it straightened up and came onrushing down the grade. She looked away when it flew past, partly out of shame and partly from the grit it kicked up in her eyes.

She found herself in two places at the same time. On her feet on the side of Norbrook Road, and in an upstairs bedroom inside that house, that house where she knew the car would stop and turn in.

It hurt the first time, she told him. And he wouldn’t stop. It hurt the second time. And the third time too, when she felt like she walked right into it. But it was cause she did too tight and fool, he said, so she went home and used her finger in the shower to get looser. She didn’t know what to do with her mouth either so he suggested a banana and laughed at her when she told him she tried it. If she rubbed her cheek just right she would remember what it felt like, the backhand, the ring from Daddy, balancing the smart of the pain against knowing she had a real boyfriend who would tell her to never disrespect him. Three years ago. Twelve years old. There’s a difference between knowing when to leave and being kicked out. The whole time he made him watch.

4

Why you don’t tell your brother to leave me alone? No, it not funny, people at school seeing him taking step with me like me is something to him.

I love how you did handle him when him did come by earlier. You bad him up for real. Me never know say is so you can going bad? But truthfully, you don’t think him did trail me? Come on. So how as soon as I reach him reach then?

Anyway, I like how you went out and put him in him place, but
still. How long that going last? No, I don’t think him badder than you. Easy, baby.

Then tell him again, cause him getting ruder and ruder. You sure him right in the head? And you know say him going after my friend Melissa now. You know why I think him vex? Is cause me choose you instead?

No, I not fraid for him. But is you supposed to handle him because is your brother. And you don’t know what him do out at the school …

Beg your pardon?

Yes, is your brother … Wha? You think only uptown people care bout family? Don’t bring me mother into this … You don’t even know me mother.

Lawd … you no tired yet? You going to get me in trouble, you know. Is bad enough you have me leaving out on Thursday, now you have me doing Wednesday too.

No, do it this way. Slow down, where you rushing to? After this we going to pick up the visa?

We can close the window over there. That one looking out the road. I don’t know, it feel weird. Like somebody watching. No, is you the one with guilt conscience.

Me can’t just laugh like that. Somebody have to give me a joke.
Give me a joke then, nuh?

No, you come over here. This couch bigger and it nearer to the TV. Shut up, I do more things than watch TV.

You not closing the windows? Them so big you must get a whole heap of mosquito. Oh, mosquito fraid of uptown. Ha ha.

Rass. I can’t believe how time fly. Night already. Man, look at Kingston, it so pretty from here, all them light right out to the sea. I would want my bedroom right here and with only glass so I can see the view all the time.

You know how hard it was walking up your rich people hill? You was supposed to pick me up at the bottom, not the middle. Imagine,
have me walking up like some household helper. In these shoes. You like me shoes? You really like it?

Make we use the pool, nuh. You no say your parents gone for the whole weekend. Thank God your brother gone.

So you like me shoes? Tell me again.

So when you carry me to Miami you going buy one even better than this for me. You wretch you, I catch you. You think I forgot.

So when we going?

When we going … What? Me can’t remember what me was going say now. You sure you brother gone? All right, is nothing. Maybe I just remembering what him say, why me feel like he’s …

So you would do that to me?

When we going to Miami? No, me never want to get married. You want me do what? Is which little girl you using that with?

You think me is a fool?

My mother still good for teaching one or two thing bout man. What she don’t teach me, me learn from her all the same.

No, my mother didn’t go to Immaculate.

G’way, I don’t talk too much. You talk too much.

Well, if you want me talk less, stop giving me screwdrivers.

Wait … wait. You hear that? You hear that? Sound like the Saab. But is not it alone. Hear there. Is more than one car. I putting on my fucking clothes.

Go deal with him. Go. You don’t hear him calling you? Go. Tell him I not here. Tell him I gone already.

I don’t know. Just tell him that.

How you mean you can’t hear me? I don’t want him to know I’m here. What you want me do? Bawl it out? Sometimes you just go on like you don’t have no fucking sense.

Don’t lick me. Leggo off o’ me. You see, is only me you have strength for. You no have no strength for your brother, though.

Them coming upstairs. Them coming upstairs. Sorry. Sorry. Go lock the door. Go lock the door. Let me go. Let me go. You
no bloodclaat hear me bomboclaat say leggo me pussyclaat, boy.

Me naah make no man rape me! Me naah make no man rape me! Go suck you mother.

Do … beg you …

Look what me come to, dear Jesus. Look how you make the man them come open the door. The Lord is my shepherd. The Lord is my shepherd. The Lord is my shepherd.

Mewantmemothermewantmemothermewantmemother.

5

This is the phone call Grace McDonald received at one a.m. on Wednesday, November 3, hours after going up to Norbrook Road searching for a smell.

—Grace.

—Somebody better be pregnant or dead.

—First thing you should learn is some manners.

—Who the
fuck
is this?

—Richardson.

—Well, it sounds like you, but it couldn’t be you at this time of the night. Plus, what the fuck is this attitude about? Listen, it’s way too early for me to tell you I’m tired of you and your shit. And I way too sleepy to tell you to stop going on like say I owe you something or I do you something.

—You done talk, my girl?

—You know what? Me tired of every fucking man in this profession thinking me is his girl.

—Tell it to somebody who care, sweetheart, cause me no give a rass. Two thing this phone call bout, you listening? First thing: learn some manners. Second thing: leave things that too big for you.

—Richardson? Don’t take any step with me.

—You already take enough step for the both of we. What a fucking idiot. You blind or you fool?

—I’m hanging up right now.

—Why you mess with my report?

—You call that a report? And what you mean
mess with?
It was incompetent. It was fucking incomplete. You don’t just come across a dead girl with her panties half off and don’t check for anything. Is so UWI teach forensics?

—You think you know everything, don’t it? You go to your little poppy-show med school in America feel say you is any big thing. Well, everybody know that if it wasn’t for your DPP boyfriend who promote you, you wouldn’t have position over me. Who the fuck are you to go behind my back and check up and change up what I do? Did I ask your fucking opinion? Did anybody ask your fucking opinion?

—Do your job.

—Who the fuck you think you talking to, girl? I
am
doing my job. Which country you live in? Cause is sure not this one. Me no understand how the fuck you get promotion and don’t know shit about how this world work.

—Your report stopped at the part where it shouldn’t have stopped.

—No fool. It end where it should end. There’s a big difference between stop and end. You figure it out.

—You know they set a dog on her?

—What you want me to do with that information?

—You know I figured out who did it?

—Yes, little girl. And him already know you know. Why you think me calling you at one in the morning, cause me want to swap recipe? They know, Grace. What the fuck you think you doing? Why you think it come back to me? The fuckers called me three times, Grace. Three fucking times. The last call came ten minutes ago. The bloodclaat people know.

6

Ruth Stenton still has the memory of how she felt when she got the second registered letter containing seventeen thousand dollars. You start to forget. You start to realize that hard as it may be, some little girl do ask for it.

Grace McDonald still has the memory of what it felt like when she got to work early on the morning after the one a.m. phone call.

You pick up the phone to call the police, then you put it down because the police might be in on it too. You remember a song that you have no reason to remember because you too old for loud American music despite all those years at Georgetown, but it said, just because you’re paranoid don’t mean they’re not after you. You close the door to your office and pull a chair behind your door and a credenza behind the chair and you wait. You try to think but all you can do is wait. You touch your shoulder and wince because the pain is still raw. You try to think, to remember if you saw this Land Rover before Marescaux Road. No, not when you left your home on Lady Musgrave Road. Not when you turned left on Old Hope Road, then right, heading south to downtown. Not when you turned right again on Marescaux Road to bypass Crossroads congestion. The white Land Rover seemed to come out of a childhood fear of blackheart man, it just appeared, fully formed and ready. It rammed into the back of your car first and you cussed, slowed down for a stop to get out and swap insurance docs or something. You stopped but the Land Rover did not. It kept coming and when it rammed into you the second time your head clobbered the steering wheel. It pulled back and you stomped the gas pedal and drove off, but it followed, came up to the side, you saw schoolgirls crossing further down the road and hoped they run fast, but they’re not running, they’re not running, move! Two dove to the side of the road. The Land Rover swung into yours, shoving you into the sidewalk. It came again and you swerved out of the way, almost hitting a stop sign. The vehicle dogged you all the way around National Heroes Circle and swerved into you again on the driver’s side and you screamed. Then, as you drove out of Heroes Circle to head south, to the police station near South Parade, the Land Rover turned and headed north.

You parked you car in two spots at the Kingston Public Hospital and ran five flights up the stairs to your office. You locked the door and you waited. The phone rang. You waited. It rang seven times and stopped. You turned away but it rang again. It sounded insistent. It would not be denied, bitch.

—Hello.

—You want to know a joke about dogs?

—Who is this?

—You want to know a joke about dogs?

—Who is this?

—Did I utter, mutter, or stutter? I said if you want to know one bomboclaat joke bout dog.

—No.

—Most times they have more empathy than humans. The son of a bitch was actually trying to help her. Can you imagine that? Only one person in the room behaving like a decent human being and it was the bomboclaat dog.

—Why you telling me this?

—You seem like you were looking for an answer so I thought I should just save you the trouble and give it to you. Baby—

—Not your fucking baby.

—Rass, baby have one serious potty mouth, though. You mother didn’t wash it out with soap? Should I send somebody over to her house to ask her? You want to know, don’t it?

—I want to know what, son of a bitch.

—You want to know if I send in Caesar pre or post mortem?

—You think you’re scaring me?

—Not at all. If I wanted to scare you I would tell you bout the part of Jamaica that is always night, that you don’t know fuck about. I would have pulled that
Sandals Negril
T-shirt you were wearing to bed last night over your head and make you choose which one of your nipples I bite off. If I wanted to scare you I’d say look out your window right now, north a few parking spots then center. I’d say wait until you see me wave back at you. If I wanted to scare you I would tell you how many times I have to change the lining of that car trunk. You know how hard it is to find parts for a Saab 900 Ruby? Only 600 made, 599 of them in the UK. If I wanted to scare you I would remind you that is not even me that come after you just awhile ago. Couldn’t, too busy waiting on you right here. And is not me that would come after you again. You know, we used to just set up in the next room when him or me dealing with a bitch. I mean, how else the little boy going to learn? But man, since hidden camera, I can be anywhere and still see everything. You know the other thing about video? You can see what you do wrong and correct it. Now every man in uptown can do the work and is all cause of me. Pity things get out of hand. So you going to thank me?

—Thank you for what, you son of a bitch.

—I don’t know. For starters, that I’m not coming after you.

—What you want?

—I already get it, baby.

—Fuck you.

—In good time, maybe?

You hung up. You wished a phone slam had an echo.

This is what Alicia Mowatt wore to Jacqueline Stenton’s funeral: her school uniform. White blouse, white skirt below the knee, and a royal-blue tie.

The Sisters insisted that Immaculate girls represent the school at so somber an occasion. Jacqueline was buried at Dove-cot Cemetery, an expensive burial grounds usually reserved for the rich and their chidren.