‘It wasn’t me,’ Shaggy suggested through the fifteen-foot speakers. Marshall walked past a speaker and his heart seemed to adopt the same beat as the bass rhythm coming from the speaker tower, which initially disoriented Marshall. He paused for a moment to get used to the feeling. It had been a few years since Marshall had been to a street dance, and he had forgotten how loud and intense the sound was.
‘Rae Town! Give it up for Stone Love!’ Selector Craven shouted into the microphone. The thousand-strong crowd roared. Hundreds of uptown people flooded to Rae Town every Sunday night for the weekly street dance, but tonight there were possibly thousands because of the presence of the famous Stone Love sound system. Craven continued to spin some new tunes, mixing in original dub rhythms that made the crowd roar with delight. Marshall stopped by an old lady, with strong features and dark eyes, sitting on a stool beside a large steaming pot sitting over a small coal fire.
‘What yuh have madda?’ Marshall asked.
‘Caaan soup.’
Marshall nodded his head, and the old woman, her head wrapped with a calico cloth, prepared a cup of corn soup for Marshall. The wooden door behind her creaked as a younger woman stepped out in skin-tight jeans and a glittering gold halter-top. Marshall then noticed the wooden shack, with its corrugated zinc roof and louvered windows. Marshall estimated that there couldn’t be more than two or three rooms within the walls of the shack. The younger woman paused and looked over Marshall from head to toe, and back again, and then stepped past the old lady, who Marshall surmised must be her mother, or grandmother, based on the strong resemblance and strong features they shared.
‘Is what time yuh a come back?’
‘Me no know Mamma. When tings done.‘ The younger woman paused and turned to the old lady.
‘Memba yuh ‘ave wok a marrow. Yuh nuh fe tek de massa wok fe granted.’
‘No worries Mamma. Me will be back early.’ A broad smile flashed across the younger woman’s face, revealing a gold tooth. ‘Marci! Gal, is wha yuh a wear!’ She ran off to hug a heavy-breasted woman, wearing what looked like a body suit that was painted on.
Marshall strolled around, soaking up the atmosphere and taking deep breaths of the sea air, pan chicken and roast corn. He sipped on his cup of corn soup, surveying the crowd. A voluptuous woman with shoulder-length bleached hair, in a silver ‘batty rider’ and sheer halter-top blouse, stopped in front of Marshall and danced a rent-a-tile dub with him.
‘Look me up anytime sweetness. During the week you can find me at Lee’s Fifth Avenue, in the underwear section. Anytime up to 5pm.’ She blew him a kiss and slithered away.
Marshall bought a Dragon stout and decided to take a seat on the knee-high sea wall. He waited patiently, scanning the crowd. A Rastafarian stopped a few yards from Marshall to talk with someone he apparently knew. Marshall watched as he skilfully simultaneously talked and shoved rice into his mouth. Then the Rastafarian paused and picked up a piece of jerk pork and started stripping the meat off the bone.
Humph! Is one rent-a-dread! Marshall scoffed.
The dread threw the stripped bone on the ground, sparking a fight between two mongrel dogs as they vied for the bone. The fight continued until it disrupted the dread’s discussion.
‘Is wha’ do yuh dawg?’ The dread kicked out at the dog nearest to him, catching the dog on the hind leg, causing the dog to run off yelping with a limp. The other dog retreated behind a sky juice cart and settled down to eat the bone.
Marshall jumped off the wall, took a swig from his Dragon and slowly walked towards his bare-chested target. Marshall casually leant against the speaker and took another swig from his stout.
‘You Johnny Thomas?’ Marshall said, just loud enough for Johnny to hear above the music. Thankfully, legendary selector Wee-Pow had taken over from Craven, and was now spinning R&B oldies. Marshall’s ears had stopped ringing.
‘Who wants to know?’ Johnny asked.
‘A friend. A friend who has a business proposal for you, and a chance for some revenge for those.’ Marshall gestured towards two keloid circular scars in Johnny’s right shoulder.
‘Revenge? Yuh mad! Yuh know is who do dis?’
‘Yup.’
‘Me was lucky fe get wey wid me life. Dat is enough for me.’
‘Oh? And what about Pringle? You just gwine forget ‘bout him?’
‘How yuh know ‘bout Pringle?’
‘Don’t worry ‘bout that.’
Johnny looked around and stepped behind the speaker boxes. Marshall followed. ‘Is who yuh? Is wha’ yuh really want?’
‘As I said, I am here to offer you a business opportunity, and to sweeten the pot, I am also offering a chance to get back your own for Pringle.’
‘Wha’ kinda business? Me not into nothin’ illegal, yuh know. Me done wid dat now. It nearly kill me, and is dat kill Pringle.’
‘Dat is not what killed Pringle. It was betrayal and greed that killed Pringle, and dat nuh right. Justice demands that someone pays for that.’
‘Humph! Justice! Is wha’ dat? We ghetto people no get no justice. Dat is fah de rich uptown people. Dat is not fe we.’
‘So you saying you not interested?’
‘Will it cost me anything to listen?’
‘You still work at Caymanas?’
‘Yeah. Only day I not at the race track is Sunday.’
‘I need some Ketamine.’
‘You mad! Dat stuff is always under lock and key. The vets guard it closely.’
‘I’m sure you can find a way, and you will get paid.’
‘How much?’
‘Not so fast. You in, or out?’
Johnny thought about for a while. ‘Yup. I’m in. How much?’
‘Two bills. Greenbacks.’
Johnny’s expression did not change. He eyed Marshall for a moment. ‘What’s in this for you?’
‘Revenge.’
Johnny thought for a moment and a sneer slowly crept across his face. ‘How much is a dish served cold worth?’
Marshall didn’t respond.
‘Me figure it worth more than two large ones.’ Johnny studied Marshall. ‘Me seh it worth at least ten bills.’
Marshall didn’t say a word. He took a final swig from his Dragon, put down the empty bottle and started to walk away. ‘It was nice doing business with you.’
‘Wait. Where mi money?’
‘What money? I gave you a price and you didn’t accept it. So we have no deal. I’m sure I can find someone else to do this for me.’
‘Wait! No. OK, OK. Let’s talk.’
‘What is there to talk about?’
‘Come on.’
‘I told you my price.’
‘OK. Say yuh give me five bills. Me have two baby madda, and dem waan fe send de pickney dem a prep school.’
Marshall rubbed his chin. ‘For five bills, I need you to also make a call for me.’
‘A call? To who? Bout what?’
Marshall explained.
‘What? Yuh mad!’
‘Five large ones if you make the call, otherwise, two.’
‘Come on. Why yuh chuck it so?’
Marshall turned and started walking away.
‘OK. OK. I’ll make the call.’
Marshall lifted his shirt and pulled a brown envelope from his out of his waist. ‘The instructions for the phone call are in there.’ Marshall stepped closer to Johnny and whispered in his ear, ‘I would advise you not to talk to anyone about this. The next scar will probably be between you’re eyes, and that one won’t heal.’