Marlon James - A Brief History of Seven Killings

— A what?

— A jim… a fast one.

— Ah. But the sir thing, hombre . He wants to become a Sir? Don’t he already got a dick, hombre ?

— A knight. A Sir, like Sir Lancelot. Now he want to go down on him knee so the queen can bless him with her sword. Such is the natural things for all black man, that they still want white woman to tell them they arrive, no so?

— Didn’t know he was black, Josef.

— Funny, in the five minutes you just call me five different name.

— What can I say, mijo ? Every time I see you, you’re a different man.

— Me is the same man.

— No. You’re not. You just say you never think about the past. That’s why you can’t see what you look like.

— Me don’t know what the r’ass you saying. Walking in and running your mouth with all sort of foolishness. Any more of this, a violin going start play.

— Again, the Josey humour nobody seems to know about.

— Brethren, this already tired. And you and me know this is not your last stop.

— Where else would I be going?

— Right back to the son of a bitch who send you.

— What if nobody sent me?

— Doctor Love don’t even roll over in bed unless it’s for a cheque.

— You know what we are, Josef?

— I know we are chatting total bullshit.

— Relics.

— You hear any fucking thing I just say?

— Something from yesterday. A memento.

— Jesus Christ.

— It means, my friend, that most people will never know. Maybe somebody will find something of value in us, but most of the time we just get thrown out.

— Brethren, if you trying to tell me something with a metaphor you doing a real fuckery job of it.

— Just trying to make merry, mijo .

— No. You stalling because you never have to do something close up before. Is a wonder how you ever fuck.

— Phone sex?

— Really?

He laughs.

— It’s the thing now, all the porn guys are ripping out their sets and putting in landlines. Some dumpy, never been married dude calls 1-900-WET-TWAT and a five-hundred-pound bitch with a sexy voice says, Hey sailor. He jerks off and it goes right to the phone bill.

— For real?

— Real deal Holyfield.

— Know I should have been a pimp.

— Dunno, drug dealer worked out pretty good. Until you ended up in this place.

— Wanted a change of scenery.

— Now who’s using a shitty metaphor?

— All these years I don’t hear shit from you. Berlin Wall come down, James Bond run out of story and Doctor Love don’t have nothing to do. What, you settle down and go back to being a real doctor? Hold on, for real? You is a doctor for real now? How you do surgery, me brethren, by blowing the body part off?

— Haha.

— Keeping a body alive for a change just seem to be outside your desire. So tell me now, Doctor Love, how this family quarrel reach you all the way in Miami?

— Who said I was in Miami?

— I can see as far as you.

— Hmm. Josef, you’re a smart man. The smartest man I’ve ever met. Surely you expected that if you keep talking long enough all sorts of people would hear you.

— I talking from two years ago. Why now and why you?

— I’m just observing.

— Bombo r’asscloth. You know what? Make we step it up because this just annoying the shit out o’ me. You know if anything happen to me, certain files going start showing on certain district attorney desk.

— The word on the street—

— You don’t know shit about the street.

— The inspector from the DEA. When did he pay you this visit, last Thursday?

— If you know that the DEA come see me, then you already know the damn day. Jesus Christ, Luis, I wish you was a relic, because no lie — the present version of you is one serious disappointment. How much pounds you put on since me last see you?

— Life has been very agreeable.

— Life turn you into a fat fuck. You sure your trigger finger can even fit?

— You’re looking good.

— You used to be able to bullshit better.

— So did you, asshole. Horseshit about files. Everybody knows you never took notes, Josey. DEA wants what’s in your head, not in some fucking file. Whatever is living with you, dying with you. You’re quiet for once. Nobody gave a shit about you until you decided to clean out that crack house in ’85. Around the same time your new best friends at the DEA started to pay attention. I would ask Weeper if it was one of those rare moments of the don man losing his temper, but he seems to have vanished with ’85 too.

— Not a damn thing mysterious about what happen to Weeper. Man couldn’t keep him hands off him own stash. Was bound to happen sooner or later.

— Injecting himself with pure coke? What kind of dealer makes an accident like that? Even if he’s using.

— Maybe it wasn’t an accident.

— You saying your boy was suicidal?

— Weeper? Him don’t have no reason to kill himself. Just when he start living like how he always want to? You know things bad when before New York the only time he was ever happy was when he was in… shit. When he was in here. This very prison.

— Then what are you saying, Josey?

— I not saying a thing. You was the one to bring it up. Fucking Weeper. I knew it was going to happen. Is this what you come for, Luis? Because all you seem to be talking about is shit that long behind me.

— Funny you should talk about people who love to talk. It’s really good to see you, Josey. Circumstances notwithstanding.

— I wouldn’t see you at all if it wasn’t for circumstances.

— Correct. I guess.

— What time you leave?

— Jamaica? No set time.

— What time?

— Tomorrow, six a.m. First flight out.

— Enough time.

— Time for what?

— Time for what you need to do. And to file the news report.

— So you and Mr. DEA talking plea bargain yet?

— Plea bargain? You previous, eh? It have to actually reach court first, Doctor Love.

— Oh, oh really?

— Yes really. You learn plenty when you life revolve around jail and court.

— Speaking about courts, that was fucked up, the appeals court not throwing out the extradition.

— Is a Privy Council, not a court of appeals. And fucked up for who? For me? Way I see it I just making a long overdue visit to America.

— You sound like you’re going to Grandma’s house.

— Me not the one sweating shit over my going to American jail. That would be whoever send you.

— Nobody sent—

— Alright, my boy. Keep up what you feel you need to keep out. Whatever you going to do, do it in my sleep.

— It was a really nice funeral.

— What?

— Really nice. The loudest funeral I ever been to, but really nice. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a marching band behind a hearse. With baton twirlers. Sexy baton twirlers in miniskirts. At first I thought it was tacky but they were wearing blue panties to class things up. They did your boy good.

— Don’t talk about my son.

— There’s one thing, though. It was so strange, because, well, I’ve never seen it before.

— Luis.

— When they lowered Benjy in the grave, a bunch of men and women formed two lines, right? On both sides of the grave and then somebody, his woman maybe? She gave the first man the baby and then they kept passing him back and forth, over the grave, all the way down the line to the end. What does that mean, Josey?

— Don’t talk about my boy.

— I mean, I just want to know wh—

— I said don’t talk about me bombocloth boy.

T hen him no suppose to wake up by now, nurse? Nurse? Nurse? Him no supposed to wake up?