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Chapter 1
Neo
The screech of seagulls echoed in the distance while the neighbor’s dog barked incessantly. Crashing waves hummed in response as the dusk began to spread across the horizon. Orange hues blanketed clear skies with the golden sunset sinking slowly out of sight. A rowboat overload with men, women, and children glided onto a quiet sandy beach, just outside of the city.
Pacing the verandah of the old cottage, the footboards squeaked as I moved around. Uncle’s eyes followed me, a smirk on his face. I came all the way to Jamaica from Italy to help solve the mystery of Antonique’s parents’ death, only to have her disappear because of a little disagreement.
“So, what are your plans now?” Uncle Robert inquired. “You know, she doesn’t want to be found.”
“But you know where she is, right?”
Uncle shook his head. “She could be at any of a million places as we speak, and she aint gonna stay put for long.”
“Uncle, I just need to talk to her. You must have some way of contacting her.”
“My boy, I can’t help you. You know that filly well enough to know she aint talking till she damn well ready,” Uncle Robert said. “Moreover, I have no idea where she is right now.”
“Darn it!” I punched the air in frustration.
“Calm down my boy, don’t make sense getting worked up.”
Uncle made a lot of sense. What use was there in getting all anxious about my woman when she was not speaking to me? All I had to do was get working on the reason I was here in Jamaica and prove to her that I was serious about her. I’d groveled enough. And if I knew Antonique, she hated weak minded men. I needed to show her how strong I was while proving my love for her.
“You’re right, Uncle Robert. Let’s forget about this issue right now and focus on what I came here to do.”
Robert walked over and patted my shoulder. “That’s my boy. But Neo, you need to do something about that accent if you’re going into that neighborhood.”
“Uncle mi alright, man. My brother taught me di Jamaican Patois long time ago. Yuh no worry ‘bout my accent.”
“Backside, yuh cool then.”
After joking around for some time, we began a serious conversation about stepping into the Plantain Grove community. A jungle deep in the rural area of St. Mary, so deep and hidden that even the police cannot find it. It’s not on any map and can only be reached by those closely related to the people there.
“The man name Piper John will tell you all you need to know about finding the one called Rusty Cock.”
From what Uncle Robert had gathered before, Rusty Cock was the alias of Nathaniel Bailey, the man who murdered Antonique’s parents. But Rusty and his gang resided somewhere inside the St. Andrew mountains, with armed guards keeping watch in the foothills. It was also alleged that there were spies everywhere, and because of this we didn’t trust anyone.
The plan was to get tips on tracking and survival in the mountains, foraging, and how to live like a rural Jamaican. I was a quick learner and didn’t foresee more than a few days in Plantain Grove, after which I would hike the Blue Mountains, with Neeky, looking for a way get to Rusty Cock.
“Come, yuh need to get some supplies. Yuh fancy clothes won’t make it in Plantain Grove.”
“Oh, we going to the store?” I asked.
Robert laughed. “You’ll see.”
We rode in uncle’s beaten-up old Ford truck for a few miles while reggae played on the radio. The roads were full of potholes, but I got used to the bumpy ride quickly. Though Jamaica was greatly different to Italy in many respects, the golden sunset was the same everywhere.
I should have been enjoying that sunset; however, my mind was on Neeky. Someone once said small things matter the most. They were right. In everything we do, it's the small things that bring the most joy, or pain. It was a simple argument about her brother that brought this rift between us. I took a deep breath and looked out the window, wondering where she was.
“This is it.” Uncle Robert’s voice interrupted my reverie.
My mouth opened in awe at what my uncle was showing me. Uncle Robert must have lost his God damn mind if he thought that I was going to pick up clothes at the Salvation army. I was hoping that Robert was there on some other mission, but the look on my uncle’s face told me differently.
“You’re kidding, Uncle. Tell me you’re kidding.”
“Nope!”
Uncle alighted the truck and beckoned that I follow him. Begrudgingly, I complied, hoping that there was a store inside the building with the brands I usually wear. But when we reached inside and Robert spoke to the woman in charge, she guided him to the distribution area where other people were milling around mounds of clothing.
