Marlon James - A Brief History of Seven Killings

Either way, he is in New York now and somebody wants him gone. She didn’t say who but made it clear it wasn’t her. I am just message bringer, she said. Didn’t matter much to me quite frankly, I never needed to know why anybody wanted anybody gone if they were willing to pay for it. But it was weird, even after giving me the hit she wanted me to stay and talk to her. She kicked everybody out. She lingered on him. Talking about how she heard he could never take a joke, never knew when somebody was bullshitting him or on the make for real, the result being that he once shot a guy because the guy said his fat lips were made for sucking his cock. I dunno, honko, you think Jamaicans laugh at the Jeffersons? Three’s Company ? I tell you, that man never laughed at anything.

Anyway, somebody wanted him dead and it wasn’t over business as he was good for business. This was a rub-out ordered by a higher power. The higher up the power, the less sensible the reason. Griselda shut up, her bottom lip trembling, her face opening up to a sentence then cutting off before she said it. Something was not sitting with her right, something she wanted to talk about but couldn’t. It was out of her hands. That some ghosts from Jamaica were coming back for this guy in New York City. Whoever wanted him dead didn’t really care how, but I had one day, one night — tonight to be specific. Hits were better at home, target’s way off guard. She said he would be home until probably late in the night. The house was probably thick with enforcers so set this shit up sniper style.

Whatever, I just wanted to get in, take him out and get gone. This trick was getting antsy, still staring at my wallet and looking over at my pillow. I had put the gun back but now I wasn’t sure what the fucker wanted to do.

— You gonna fuck me or what?

I was watching my woman pack my Adidas bag when the phone ring. I was going to leave it but she stare at me with her you-think-you-have-maid-’round-here? look.

— Hello?

— Brethren, me hope you pack at least three breadfruit, ten sprat and a bucket o’ rice and peas for the I, zeen?

— Eubie. Wha’gwaan, brethren?

— You know the runnings. Just a take life easy still, you no see it?

— Then no must, man, sometimes you have to control a thing and make it work, till it can’t work no more.

— That me ah say. How the brethren?

— Cool, man, cool.

— Mind you know. Me know man like you don’t like take plane. You have passport and visa? Is not bus ticket run this thing, you know.

— Eubie, everything kriss.

— Wicked. Then Josey, you ever come New York before?

— No, star, only Miami. Businessman no have time for vacation, star.

— True, true. How the Mrs.?

— She would love to hear you call her Mrs. Damn woman a hound me for month now ’bout when we goin’ married like real uptown people and why we have to be so common-law and ghetto. Is you talking to her?

— Haha, no, star. But brethren, the Bible say a man who finds a wife finds a good thing.

— Then you calling me woman a thing, Eubie?

— Me? No. The Bible? You and God going have to take up that one. Although the Bible didn’t mean you to take it literal. You under—

— Me understand, Eubie. Don’t have to go to Columbia University to understand that.

— Awhoa. Anyway, me living in New York near ten years now and even me still can’t understand it. It going be really interesting to see what you make of it. New York, just like I pictured it, with skyscrapers and everything…

— Who that, the Jeffersons?

— Stevie Wonder, my man. You Jamaicans know the brethren did more than just “Master Blaster,” right?

Two minutes in and this is the second time Eubie trying to tell me that I’m ignorant.

— You Jamaicans? No just last week you jump off the boat in New York ’cause it wouldn’t stop?

— Hahaha, good one, Josey Wales, good one.

My woman just give me a who-the-r’asscloth-you-talking-to? look. She can tell how I feel about Eubie even though she never meet him. The thing with Eubie is that unlike everybody here who West Kingston have to raise, Eubie didn’t come from the ghetto. He fully form from before I even meet him. He have Bronx and Queens lock down with Medellín before I even think to leave Miami to the pussyhole Griselda Blanco, who prefer to deal with Bahamians anyway. And he take some of the best brothers from Copenhagen City from as early as ’77. The funny thing is I can barely remember him. He wasn’t from Balaclava, or Country or Gaza, but some good house with two good car and a good education too. I could tell from the one time he come visit and he was looking at everybody like he was at the zoo. And he was sweating right through his silk suit, but wouldn’t take the white kerchief out of the pocket to wipe him face. Plenty man in these runnings because this is where you find yourself, so you make do until you make big. But I don’t know. If I was him and come from where he come, is no way I would’ve find meself in this. Eubie is the only man I know who in this game for no other reason than desire. More than that, I think it do for him what chasing down fresh pussy after fresh pussy do for some of these boys. A man with big ambition and small stakes. At the same time, for a man, who in just two minutes set himself up as man ’bout the town, he still sport that white kerchief because nobody in America know it mean the man more scared of Obeah than some people scared of the devil.

— So Eubie, you just couldn’t wait to hear me voice even though you soon see me, or you ah check me ’bout something?

— Woi, you sharp, Josey, anybody ever tell you?

— Me mother.

— Hah, well yeah, me call you ’bout something. Something me… Well anyway, brethren, the second you say is not my business me would just shut me trap ’bout the whole thing.

— What business, brethren?

— Well I did try to connect with your brethren Weeper ’bout the thing but I couldn’t get him and—

— What business?

— So Weeper didn’t call you? Me did think you was going tell me that that matter settle up long time. Is just when you all the way on Bronx and hearing ’bout Brooklyn business, you think, that’s not my affair, that belong to the man named Weeper. But as me say, me call him house with the number you give me long time and no Weeper. Him change him number?

— What business?

Eubie pause. He certainly not afraid of me so I know he’s not nervous. He taking him time, dragging this out. He wants me to know that he have something I want even if I don’t think so.

— Well when one of these things happen, it don’t mean nothing. Sometimes these basehead will skip from borough to borough to score as much rock as he can get, right? I mean, ah nuh nothing. But when six of them come all the way from Brooklyn to Bronx something must be up.

— You saying you get six customers from Brooklyn today? Maybe they don’t know where to go in Brooklyn.

— A where you come from, Josey Wales? A crackhead need him fix, trust me, motherfucker know where to go. He can’t afford to not keep that shit local. Close proximity is crucial to success, my brethren, but of course me only telling you what you already know. Anyway, one my boys grab one them heads and ask him what him doing all the way in Queens, and him say he couldn’t deal with Bushwick no more.

— What happen in Bushwick?

— No your man Weeper run Bushwick?

— Wha’appen in Bushwick, brethren?

— The man say that two dealer suddenly charge twice what they usually charge, just like that. Me know you know we building a loyalty thing right here and we always looking for new customers but since me no remember you saying anything ’bout price increase, me surprise price just jack up in Brooklyn. I mean, that no make no sense, is because of price fixing why we don’t have too much movement from borough to borough?