Marlon James - A Brief History of Seven Killings

— Me no know them place deh.

— Then buy a bombocloth atlas and learn yourself.

Brethren, you know me have a feeling ’bout them things, and I just don’t trust the brother , he say every week in almost the exact same sentence. But Weeper is not a thinking man, he only read a few books, whereas Eubie think far and wide. He leave Columbia to sell weed because there was nothing Columbia could teach him about making money he don’t already know. He almost too smart. One hundred thousand pounds of weed and ten thousand pounds of white wife in just one year. I know and he know it and Weeper know it too, which is why he still can’t stand him. That man’s brain was making us rich. But that man brain need my supply and although me sure he already try to contact Escobar himself, they never going to trust any man that slick. Don’t even care that he do it, even expect him to, but I didn’t tell Weeper. Weeper call me another time just to say that Eubie must be the only man from Jamdown to get pedicure and he must be a battyman or something which make me laugh so long that Weeper start say that him didn’t make joke. I tell Weeper to cool it. I didn’t tell him that Eubie, when he was not killing man himself, have two brothers, real relation too, who already take out more than fifty man for him, that I hear about. Me sure there be a name for man like Eubie, but only head doctor know it.

Bad man don’t take note. Instead I recall name like how some people recall great men. I make list and remember like a song, like a nursery rhyme. If anybody find out, nobody would take me serious. So I send Weeper and a boy to pick up some equipment in Florida and then put him on another truck to round up some more in Virginia and even Ohio. But the police intercept a truck in West Virginia. Before long gone boys bussing shots in D.C., Detroit, Miami, Chicago and all over New York.

And in all of this the boy still won’t leave off Eubie.

— Think him is a cha-cha boy just because he wearing him mother curtain as suit. I tell you, Josey, mark my word, that man going turn ’gainst you.

— I watching him, Weeper.

— Well you better watch him harder. I don’t trust him too much. He always have him hand on him chin, like he thinking how he can get over you.

— You serious? He not the only man I watching, Weeper.

— What the fuck that mean?

— It mean what it mean. Why man from Queens telling me that supply spotty between you and Eubie? No link in New York?

— Things not spotty, a man need to learn to bombocloth wait.

— You really think a man going wait? What the fuck wrong with you?

— How you mean?

— Brethren, New York look like a monopoly to you? Ranking Dons, Blood Rose Crew and Hot Steppers all want a piece of each street and that’s just the Jamaicans. You don’t supply, they find another supplier, simple as that. And then thanks to people who think like you, I have to come to New York and put everything back in its natural order. Jesus Christ, Weeper, you mean I going have to come to New York? Or maybe I should just make Eubie deal with Queens too and bring you back to Jamai—

— No! No, Josey. No, man. Me can’t… me can do this. Me was just…

— You was just what? Don’t make man in Queens call me again. Couldn’t even understand half of what the fucker was saying.

— Yes, brethren, me will deal with that business, Weeper say. But what he didn’t say was that he was over him head, not with low business but because new man from a new posse move in on him turf, the same posse that trying to move in on Miami. People forget that when JLP win election in 1980, plenty man take flight to USA quick. Now they in Blood Rose, Hot Steppers but especially Ranking Dons, and they gunning for territory like everybody still in Kingston. Again this call for thinking and Weeper is not a thinking man, he just read a few book.

Something else. Truth is I don’t demand that much, but I say to Weeper, Hey, you remember that pussyhole, Tristan Phillips? The one from the peace council with Papa-Lo, and Shotta Sherrif, and the Singer? The one who just disappear like magic trick even though I send not one but two man to deal with him case? He living in Queens now and me want you to put a case of vanishing cream ’pon that brother. Before he do something like join this PNP gang, although he the same one who go on American TV to talk about the peace movement.

Nineteen eighty-two I dispatch Weeper to deal with that man. Tell him to buy a plane ticket and head to New York, then get a gun and close that Jamaican chapter. One week later I get a call not from Weeper but from Benny, one of Weeper’s runner boys, with the message that it was done. I don’t bother ask Weeper how high he was when he give this little shit my phone number. Worse, to have somebody who think he can speak to me this way: Weeper say fi tell you that the vanishing cream done, y’hear? Later. This is why I don’t bother. Because if ask, why the bloodcloth you just do that, he will say do what ? Not because he is a pussyhole, but because he honest to God wouldn’t know. Whatever, I make it roll off me because Phillips was dead and that chapter closed.

Two Thursday ago, one of my men who just get let out of Rikers ask me if I ever know a Tristan Phillips because he say he know everything about me. I say, what you mean by know, don’t you mean, did know? He say no, Josey, the brethren don’t dead, him in Rikers and just serve two out of a five-year sentence for armed robbery. He used to be in Attica but they transfer him to Rikers. And he running with the Ranking Dons now.

Me can send word to take him out, my man say, but I say leave the man be. I call Weeper the Friday.

— You know who me run into what day? Tristan Phillips’ baby mother, she come all the way over to the JLP side looking for money, she say Tristan just up and left her so and won’t send money for the baby. Funny, eh? I say.

— Yeah that funny, he say.

So now I packing a sports bag for New York City. Don’t plan to stay long. Eubie already make all the arrangements. I look and see my boy in school uniform watching me from the doorway.

— Bombocloth, Daddy, is where you just come back from? You look like you high.

— You standing there like you like to watch man. Go to school, my youth.

— School ah fuckery.

— Me look like one of them parent that allow them pickney to cuss in front of me?

— No, Daddy.

— Good. So you better stop screw up you face and get you bombocloth backside to school. You think Wolmer’s Boys’ School free?

— All education free, Daddy, so no bother come with that.

— You know what also free. A fucking gun-butt in you head for feistiness. So you better stop block me doorway and get you bloodcloth batty to the high school before them lock the gate.

— Daddy, how me going know what to—

— Know? Know what? You mean your education? I thought it was school you going to, so why me still seeing you damn ugly face? Looking more like you r’asscloth mother more and more every day.

I smile with the boy so that he don’t feel like I threatening him too much, but he is sixteen now, and I still remember sixteen, so I know hunger growing in him. All this talking back is moving from a little cute to a little threat. Part of it sweet me, seeing this little shit puff him chest out. He turn to leave when I say,

— Next trip, for real.

The boy don’t smile or anything, just nod once and leave, and I watch the blue backpack moving away from me. One year, maybe two year from now, I won’t have the strength to hold him back.

I s lie you a tell me. Two Friends night club never deh ’bout in 1977? It didn’t open till ’79? Then is which club me run into Rawhide, Turntable? No star, me can’t imagine it being Turntable, boy, even the Prime Minister used to go there so. People from the good side of life mingling with middle-class people to feel like them connect to some culture, you know how it go. You sure? How you so sure? For a man who say him don’t go to Jamaica since 1978 you know a whole fucking heap about 1979. You same one tell me that is a book ’bout the Singer you writing, but what any of this have to do with the Singer? You know the man check out 1981, right? Or you lock up in a battyhole till now? Me must look like me born behind cow. You writing a ghost story? The Singer duppy haunting Rose Hall? Come to think of it, if you really writing about the Singer, why the fuck you talking to me? You think me is a fucking idiot, Pierce?