Marlon James - A Brief History of Seven Killings

— Church organs? Good gracious, are you playing church music?

— No.

— That’s a preacher, he’s talking about the afterworld, and that’s most definitely organs.

— Shut up and listen.

He sits back down just as Prince says, in this life you’re on your own .

— Oh my. Oh my, I do quite like this.

He stands back up, snapping his fingers and nodding his head. I wonder if he was a teenager during Elvis and what he thought of the Beatles. I want to ask him if he likes rock and roll, but the question seems silly for a man finger snapping and tapping like Bill Cosby just taught him jive.

— Let’s go crazy, let’s get nuts, he says. I feel guilty for not dancing. So I get up and dance. And then I do something I never, ever, ever do.

— Doctor Everythingwillbealright, makes everything go wrong, thrills spills and daffodils will kill, hang tough children. He’s coming. He’s coming. He’s coming. He’s coming. Whoo hoo hoo-hoo.

I grab the comb on the kitchen counter and it’s a microphone for three more whoo hoo hoo-hoos. And then the guitar solo comes and at first I think he’s having a heart attack, but he’s actually miming the guitar solo with his hands. I’m jumping and yell Go Crazy, Go Crazy and the song stretches the moment out so long — I mean, I’ve listened to the song tenteen million times but it’s never been this long, until it just collapses and so do we. I’m on the floor, he’s on the couch. He jumps right back up when “Take Me With U” comes on, but I’m still on the floor, panting and laughing.

— That may be the most fun I’ve had since before the Beatles came on Ed Sullivan .

— Is what with you people and the Beatles?

— They’re only the greatest rock band of all time.

— The last client had us standing outside John Lennon’s hotel all night that night.

— Whatever for? Was he recording with Paul?

— What? I’m not sure that’s funny.

He walks over to the stereo and picks up the album jacket.

— Who’s the homely looking dyke on the bike?

— That’s Prince.

— Prince who?

— Just Prince. The moustache wasn’t a giveaway?

— Well my second thought was that this was the hottest bearded lady ever.

— He has a movie showing, named Purple Rain .

— Purple Haze?

— Rain. Prince, not Jimi. I should probably take it off. He gets a little explicit.

— Sweetie, I’m the only white man in five boroughs who actually owns Blowfly records. This Prince doesn’t scare me. Sorry for calling you sweetie. I understand women aren’t into being spoken to that way anymore.

I wanted to tell him that I didn’t mind and that it’s still the first time anybody — certainly any man — has called me anything nice in a while. But I looked out the window at the skyline turning on its lights.

— Who’s the girl on the cover?

— Apollonia. She’s supposed to be his girlfriend in real life.

— So he’s not gay then.

— You must be hungry. You didn’t eat any of the pizza at your house.

— I am kinda. What you got?

— Nachos and ramen.

— Good Lord, not together?

— Prefer week-old Chicken McNuggets?

— Milady doth have a point.

I put the kettle on for the noodles, which means time just sitting and listening to the rest of the album. By the time the kettle is whistling the album is almost over, and I’m thinking of flipping it back to side one because I know I won’t be able to sit through the silence and neither will he.

— So where’re you from exactly?

— What?

— Where are you… Can you turn that off? It’s not like Elvis is leaving the building. Where’re you from?

— Eat your noodles. Kingston.

— You already said that.

— A place named Havendale.

— Is that in the city?

— Suburbs.

— Like the Midwest?

— Like Queens.

— Ghastly. Why did you leave?

— It was time to go.

— Just like that? Was it Michael Manley and all that communist hoo-hah that was going on a couple years ago?

— I see you’re very informed about the Cold War.

— Sweetie, I grew up in the fifties.

— I was being sarcastic.

— I know.

— Anyway, why anything drive me out? Maybe I just wanted to leave. You ever been around family and still feel like you’ve overstayed your welcome?

— Holy fucking Christ, tell me about it. Worse when it’s your own goddamn house that you goddamn paid for.

— You’re still going to have to go back eventually.

— Oh you think so, do you? What about you?

— Don’t have anything to go back to.

— Really? No family? No sweetheart?

— You really are a child of the fifties. In Jamaica, a sweetheart is the woman you’re cheating on your wife with.

— Charming. Speaking of charming, I gotta use your loo.

— Back down the hallway where you came in, second to last door on your right.

— Gotcha.

It would be funny to turn on the TV right now and with Cronkite leading off about the Colthirst big daddy being kidnapped and held for ransom. The wife/daughter-in-law bawling on camera until she realizes that her mascara is running down her cheeks and shouting cut! And the son looking all stoic because he either doesn’t want to talk or his wife refuses to shut up. We thought the place was reputable, but you never know. She seemed so trustworthy — her name was Dorcas, for God’s sake. Only God knows how much she will ask for in the ransom note . I wonder if she will dress up right before the news cameras show up. What’s my photo going to look like on TV, though I’m sure the agency doesn’t have a photo of me. At least I can’t remember. But let’s say they have a picture of me, which in just a slight change of context will look like a mug shot. I’ll bet from the one day I left the apartment and forgot to get my hair right. The couple will probably hold hands while she begs the kidnapper, meaning me, to have some humanity since her father is not well, not well at all, and—

— What’s this?

I didn’t hear him come out of the bathroom. No flush, no door squeak, no nothing. Is so my thoughts run away with me that I didn’t even notice him until he’s right in front of me.

— I said, what’s this? Who are you anyway?

He waves it in front of me. I already tell myself that it’s not like I was expecting the day to end with people in my house. I mean, this is the house of a woman who never expects company. But goddamn it, I should have checked the bathroom first, if for nothing else to make sure fresh towel was over the sink. And now he’s in front of me like he name police, waving the book that is usually safe under my pillow.

How to Disappear Completely and Never Be Found

By Doug Richmond

Cho bombocloth.

B ullshit, bullshit, bullshit. You chatting so much shit your tongue probably brown. Oh no? Okay, you know what, let’s play it your way. What else you have to ask me. Balaclava? You done ask me that already. Copper? Check your notes, fool. Papa-Lo and Shotta Sherrif, I track the last one from the Eight Lanes right up to Brooklyn, so check your notes.

Oh? Really?

That’s not what I think. You want to know what I think? You don’t have any notes. Everything you have scribbled down there is doodle and bullshit. For all I know you been writing Mary Have a Little Lamb in Spanish all this time. No? So make me see it. Go on. Yeah right, as you Americans say. Exactly what me did think. White boy, just cut the shit already. Better yet, why you don’t stay quiet and I will tell you why you is here? Look at you, man. I mean, it’s 1985, you can’t get a decent haircut, with this hippie fuckery. Jeans shirt like cowboy, disco jeans pants and don’t tell me, cowboy-no, bike boots. Shit. Even man in prison see at least two episode of Miami Vice . You get any punaani looking like that? Oh, you know what punaani mean? Really. This is your style or you get stuck in a year and everybody leave you there?