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Chapter 2
Neo
The day broke with light showers, and it appeared that the rest of the day would yield much rain. I jogged along the beach for an hour in the drizzle before heading back to the cottage, feeling quite optimistic about how things were proceeding. All the while, my mind was occupied with both Neeky as well as the tasks ahead of me. I wanted her here with me to do this. She was supposed to be with me in the mountains while we searched for Rusty Cock. Now, I’d have to go it alone.
Uncle was on the verandah when I returned from my jog, and he straight away pulled me inside and began grilling me about our mission. Although I was anxious to get started on this journey, I was also worried that my efforts would be futile as it’s been nearly thirty years since the death of Neeky’s parents. I wondered what I would find now that the trail had gone cold.
Preliminary work done had taken them to the man who was the oldest in the community. Mr. Joseph – Mass Joe – knew everything. He was the “historian”, and everyone came to him for information. He knew every crevice and corner of the community, so he was also known as the “map”. Ask him directions and you can’t go wrong. Mass Joe was ninety-eight years old with no vision in both eyes. Yet his tongue was sharp and mind sharper.
Even though Robert had been living in this community a long time, he wasn’t able to get any information from the old man. Now that the man was dying, he decided to spill the beans on everyone, not only about Neeky’s parents but about events that happened years ago. This has caused such an uproar in the community. Many marriages and friendships were now over because of it.
“Young blood,” Uncle said. “What a gwaan?”
I grinned as I realized he thought I had no idea what that meant. “Wha’ happen old man?”
He chuckled. “Good. Now tell me, when somebody calls you a dawg (dog), wah dat mean?”
“When a man say it, it means brotherhood, friendship, or kinship. But when a woman call you dawg, yuh better hide yuh face, cause that no good at all.”
I knew my Patois was “broken” (a mix of not so perfect English and the dialect), but for the most part, that was how most uptown Jamaicans talked. I wasn’t worried. With the way I looked, everyone believed I was from uptown, wanting to escape my parents’ rules. I was hoping Rusty Cock would believe the same thing.
“Wicked! Yuh know every ting.” (wicked used here to mean good, great, or excellent)
“Uncle, mi must wicked yuh know, my brain quick like lightning.”
“By di way, yuh phone was ringing.”
“What? And yuh just a tell mi?”
I left my uncle and rushed into the bedroom. The cottage was small with only one bedroom, the living room, a kitchenette, and verandah. The bathroom facilities were across the yard with an ancient pit toilet, and a shower area made from zinc sheets. There was no roof on the bathroom, which facilitated rain showers. I loved it here.
I picked up the cell phone from off the bed and checked the missed calls. An unknown number was the only call and I wondered if it was Neeky. Just as I put the phone down out of frustration and was heading back the way I came, a movement out in the yard caught my attention. I paused my steps and stared through the louvre window. I saw nothing.
It was the sound of someone stepping on galvanized zinc sheets that sent the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on ends. A hand grabbed me, and I jumped, but it was only Uncle Robert. He had a finger pressed to his lips indicating that I be silent as he dragged me up against the wall then shoved a Glock into my hand.
We sidled up to the wall that separated the living room from the bedroom and listened. Our faces were to the front door while the kitchen was to our right. We heard feet running across the gravel in the yard and we knew that Rusty Cock might have got word that we were coming for him. Although we tried to be discreet about what we had found, we knew that no one could be trusted. Mass Joe was an old man now, but someone from his home could have been the spy, because only Uncle and I had gone to see him.
Uncle pointed to the back door while someone kicked in the front door. We both dropped and rolled as another made his way into the kitchen. Both uncle and I fired at the same time, the slugs hit flesh with a soft thud. Two other men came through the kitchen firing with an M16 rifle. They pumped out the shots like jet stream. We rolled to the back of the sofa and used it as a shield as we waited for the shots to end.
A last the shots stopped, and someone stealthily walked into the living room. He whispered to his accomplice who whispered back. Uncle, who was on his back reached around the sofa and aimed. Hitting the man in his face. I eased up over the edge of the sofa and fired. The second man from the kitchen dropped like a hot potato. We stood still for a moment while we listened for other activity. There was silence all around and we gingerly got to our feet.
“You think that’s it?” Uncle asked in a low tone.
“Seems like it.”
We checked the yard and surrounding areas and we found no one else. A black Toyota and a motorcycle were parked a few yards away on the back road. It seemed like those were their modes of transportation. After we got back to the house, uncle and I checked their cell phones and discovered text messages on all phones from someone called Dog Blood.
“Do you think this Dog Blood is Rusty Cock’s enforcer?” I inquired.
Uncle rubbed his chin. “Maybe. I’ll do some checking. Before that, let’s call the cleaners. The place stinks.”
