Montego Bay

by Fred Galvin

  She noticed and, of course, she dug in her heals. “Skeptical, Mr. Case? Just take a look at the roots of that giant cotton tree over there. Those roots are well-known spots for spirits to hang out.” With a twinkle in her eye she added, “And I would also be remiss if I did not mention duppies and rolling calves.”

  She waited for my reaction as we walked on along a path. I knew that she knew that I’d bite eventually but I didn’t want to seem too eager even though I will admit to being curious. I thought I’d push her buttons a bit first. “Duppies … and rolling calves … aren’t duppies those tiny multi-colored fishies? And ‘rolling calves’ sounds like part of a rodeo competition.”

  She stopped walking, turned to me, hands on hips. For a second I thought she was going to tap her foot like an impatient librarian scolding a loud child. “Well, you are sorely mistaken, Mr. Case. Those little fishies are guppies, not duppies, and there are no rodeos to be found on the island of Jamaica. I’m sure we can find you a flight to Texas in the morning if that’s what interests you.”

  I grinned. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Please make me wise-in-the-ways of the duppies and rolling calves of Jamaica.”

  She punched me in the shoulder. “Don’t be a wise ass. We take our lore and legends seriously here. Now pay attention or you just may wake up in the middle of the night with some unwanted spectral company. They are watching and listening, you know!”

  I rubbed my shoulder, made another face, and pouted like a ten year old. “Okay.”

  “Now pay attention. Duppies are restless spirits, usually recently deceased good friends or family members.” I thought, Maybe Jen can become a duppie. “Good duppies can help you with advice when you are in a bind. Bad duppies can be harmful if you’re not careful. One well-told duppie story involves a fishing boat captain out of Kingston harbor. A duppie dressed in flowing white robes appeared on the bow of his boat staring back up at him on the bridge. She kept asking to be beckoned by the captain who eventually thought he was mad and jumped into the sea only to be eaten by a shark.”

  “Maybe the bad duppie was actually the shark and the woman in the white robes was an accomplice.”

  “Careful. She was a bad one. If you encounter a bad duppie, look away immediately or risk your head swelling and eventually exploding. If that doesn’t work, you can turn your clothes inside out or expose yourself and swear.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. She looked back at me. “What!? Expose myself and swear? What could that possibly accomplish except getting me arrested? Oh, never mind. Anyway, who am I to challenge anti-bad-duppie advice? How about rolling calves?

  “Ah, yes. Rolling calves. I advise you not to walk around the streets of MoBay alone at night, especially after midnight. If you do and see a pair of red eyes staring at you and hear the sound of a chain being dragged along the street, well, you could be in the sights of a rolling calf. It’s a large calf-like creature with evil intentions and it is not shy. They are the spirits of evil butchers.”

  “Evil butchers? There are butcher who are evil? What do they do, torture pork chops?”

  “Don’t ask. Just run. It is best to drop coins or multiple objects as rolling calves cannot resist counting them giving you enough time to escape.”

  “So, your advice is not to walk the streets of Montego Bay alone at night but if I do, I should wear running shoes and bring a pocketful of change with me, right?”

  “Right.”

  We continued walking through the lush and beautiful woods. It seemed we were circling back towards the Day-O.

  “Is that it? Duppies and rolling calves?”

  Ronnie stared straight ahead. She deadpanned, “Oh my no. There’s Ol’ Hige the witch.”

  In my best Bedevere voice, “How do you know she’s a witch?”

  “For one thing, she can turn you into a newt.” We both laughed at the classic Monty Python and the Holy Grail exchange. “Watch for her at night. She sheds her skin at night and flies around in the form of an owl.”

  “Is she on a broom?”

  Ronnie stopped and looked at me with a serious scowl. “An owl on a broom? Dan, you’re treading on thin ice here. Do not knock the spirits. Like I said before, they are watching and listening. Now pay attention as this could save your life someday.”

  She turned quickly to look straight ahead again and I suspected she was trying mightily to hold it together. After a heavy sigh, “As people sleep, Ol’ Hige flies into their bedrooms through an open window and sucks their breath as they sleep. But she can be killed by sprinkling salt and pepper on her which will burn her skin. Or, better yet, sleep with an open Bible on the bed.”

  I stopped walking and stared after her for a moment while she continued on, I suspected composing herself before turning to face me. Finally she did, still deadpan although I thought I noticed a twitch in her right eye and upper lip. Yes, I had seen that before. She was close to the edge of losing it and knew it would take one wisecrack from me to tip her over the precipice.

  I held my hands out defensively. “Okay, so let me get this straight. If I want to survive my visit here … ” I could see her lips now starting to tremble, she couldn’t last much longer, “… I should resist the urge to walk the streets at night. But if I do decide to go for a nocturnal stroll, I should wear my Air Jordans, fill my pockets with plenty of loose change, avoid eye contact with any beckoning woman in a white flowing dress, and panic if I feel my head swelling. But if I do stay in bed, I need to sleep with a Bible and salt and pepper shakers in case I forget to close my bedroom window. Have I got it all right?”

  Still barely keeping it together, she came face-to-face with me and gripped my shoulders tightly. “Actually it’s an open Bible, but yes, Dan. All that should keep you safe.” Still holding my eyes in an unblinking stare, she added solemnly, “Unless you encounter River Mumma or happen to come across the Golden Table while on a river. In either case, for God’s sake stay away from both no matter how tempting it may be to approach them. Your life would be at stake.”

  I held her stare for as long as I could. Finally she blinked first, lost it, and started laughing. “Damn you!”

  I eased up a bit. “Do you have any more? This is getting good.”

  She thought for a moment. “Actually yes, on the lighter side, I have one more.” She reached into her small purse and removed a 500 Jamaican Dollar note. She pointed to the image of a stern looking woman on the bill. “This is Nanny of the Maroons.”

  “Okay, now you’re messing with me.”

  “No, seriously. Nanny is a national heroine. She was the leader of the Maroons which were runaway slaves when they were fighting the British in the 1700s. She was an Obeah which meant, and means today, that she was a practitioner of voodoo-like activities. It was believed that she could catch bullets in her bare hands. As her legend grew, the tale was embellished to the point where it was claimed she could catch them with her buttocks.”

  “Ouch! I’m having difficulty envisioning that. Did they have Preparation H in Eighteenth Century Jamaica?”

  “I doubt it, which just suggests as to what an extraordinary woman she must have been.”

  “Yeah, I guess so if she’s on a 500 Jamaican dollar note. Just how much is that in U.S. dollars?”

  “Just under four dollars, so don’t be too impressed that I’m flashing around 500s.”

  “Well, thanks for that information. I have to admit you really had me going there for a minute with the duppies and rolling calves.”

  She raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. “Really??”

  I shook my head sadly. “No, not really.”

  ~~~

  We returned to the Day-O where Malcolm walked us to the Jeep and gave Ronnie a hug. “Good to see you again Ronika. You look good. Life here in MoBay is agreeing with you. Nice to meet you Dan. I hope you enjoy your visit here. Come back again.”

  “Thanks Malcolm. I’m sure I will.”

  I didn’t know it at the time but that was a promis
e I would keep.

  Back on the road, Ronnie drove through small villages into the hills. “Do you want to learn more about Montego Bay, Dan?”

  “Sure, as long as we’re done with duppies, rolling calves, owls, jumping goats, talking chickens, flying sheep, and whatever other mythical creatures there may be. I’m interested in MoBay.”

  “Okay, here are some interesting factoids.

  “It is believed Christopher Columbus landed not far from here, in Discovery Bay, in 1494.

  “Sir Richard Branson of Virgin Atlantic fame is one of many high-profile part-time residents of Montego Bay. He has opened the Branson Centre of Entrepreneurship to help aspiring entrepreneurs.”

  “Hmmm. Maybe, if I decide to stay, I could open the Deckler Institute for Aspiring Homicide Detectives; Caribbean Campus. Would you like to be a paid consultant? I can’t promise the pay would rival that of a deckhand on the Sea Nymph but it would be rewarding work.”

  “Let me think about it. I’ve thought about it. No thanks. Continuing … ”

  A memory jumped into my brain. “Wait a second,” I interrupted. “I seem to remember a brief conversation we once had about voodoo when we were on a stakeout. You mentioned something about Mamba, a voodoo priestess. Do you remember?”

  She thought a second, a bit too long indicating to me that she did indeed remember and was deciding whether or not to admit it. “No, not really. Now, let me tell you a bit about reggae.”

  “Not so fast. You don’t remember Mamba? You sure? We were staked out at the Baruch complex waiting for Alonzo Williams to surface. I think I farted, one of my classic rippers if I recall, and you pleaded with Mamba to be saved. I asked who Mamba was and you said she was a voodoo priestess but didn’t elaborate, as usual. Remember now?”

  “How could I forget? I thought I was going to choke. And what part of one of your farts can possibly be classic?” Challenged, I held up my index finger as if to begin pontification on classic farts. She grabbed my finger, nearly crushing it and stifling my reply. “Stop! Wait! Never mind. That’s a discussion I really don’t want to have.”

  Deflated at a lost opportunity to really degrade the conversation (sometimes I surprise myself at how I can digress to a twelve-year-old so easily), I held up my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, but I want to hear more about Jamaican voodoo in general and your interest in it in particular, and remember, I am your valued client.”

  “Obeah.”

  “O-what?”

  “Obeah. Voodoo actually originated in Haiti. Here in Jamaica, it’s ‘Obeah,’ not voodoo, and it’s practice has been unlawful for centuries. But recently, the government has relaxed the penalties for the practice of Obeah and we are looking forward to its decriminalization.”

  “Why was it illegal?”

  “Religion in Jamaica is very popular, Christianity in particular, and Christians largely consider Obeah to be black magic. So its practice is rare but still findable, especially in the rural areas while it has essentially died out in the urban centers where most Jamaicans now live.

  “Obeah came to Jamaica with enslaved Africans who used their spiritual practices for folk healing and belief that magic could be used for evil and good. It is centered more on individual beliefs than broader practices like Christianity. If people want to pay someone to cast a spell or to provide some sort of help, that’s their business.”

  “How about you? There were people in the precinct that believed you used voodoo to solve cases no one could come close to. Are you a practitioner?”

  An interesting look came over her, kinda of impish, mischievous, like a kid who just got away with something she was explicitly told not to do. I’d seen that look a few times and, frankly, it spooked me a little. Her answer was typical Ronnie.

  “I knew what they were thinking and maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t. What do you think, DD? Would you be surprised if I said that I may be a direct descendant of Nanny of the Maroons? Remember her? The lady on the 500 Jamaican dollar bill?”

  “Seriously? The lady who could catch bullets with her ass? God, I wish I had brought my Glock! We could find out the answer right here and now.”

  She laughed. “Come on. Let’s get back in the Jeep. I’ll drive you through the countryside and then back to your accommodations.”

  Chapter 5: Elephant-In-The-Jeep

  Climbing back into the Jeep, I felt good. I was relaxed and enjoying what, so far, was a tropical paradise. I had been to Florida once for a seminar on ballistics. It was warm and sunny with palm trees. One evening a couple of guys and I strolled the beach and I watched in awe at beautiful women who seemed to be walking around in their underwear. It certainly had potential for being a paradise, but that was work. This was leisure and I really had no place to be except where I wanted to be. Ronnie pulled out of the Day-O’s lot, gravel crunching under the Jeep’s oversized tires.

  “Thanks for lunch and the Jamaican myths and legends lessons.”

  She turned and smiled at me. “You’re welcome, Dan. Are you enjoying yourself? Feeling good?”

  “Actually I was just thinking about that. Yes. I am at ease. This is nice.” Then I turned in my seat to address her more directly. One of the members of the Elephant-In-The-Room crew was with us and was getting itchy. In this case he was the Elephant-In-The-Jeep, rather than the room, but the concept was the same. His gigantic ass was plopped in the Jeep with us and he was becoming impatient to get on with his assignment. So I decided to appease him.

  “How about you, Ronnie. It was a pretty big move for you, escaping from the madness of Manhattan and the NYPD to … ” I waved my arm across the passing lush countryside dotted with small houses “ … all this. Endless summer, no traffic, no taxis, no subways, no horns honking, no sirens wailing, no homicide cases to solve. Just greens and blues of the sea and the lush scenes and sounds of the jungle.”

  She laughed. “Well, it’s not exactly jungle. We’re pretty civilized here, believe it or not. Anyway, yes, it was a rather sudden change but one I have embraced.”

  I purposely didn’t mention no gambling addiction problems, no mobsters murdering your favorite CI, no dumping bodies over the side of your brother’s boat, but all that did hang in the air. The elephant squirmed, sensing his time was at hand.

  Finally I asked, “You want to talk about it?”

  She drove on a minute, looking straight ahead. While she was expert in deflection and playing her life close to the vest, she could also be very direct. “By it I assume you mean my being complicit in the death of Frankie Finacci and tossing his corpse over the side of my brother’s boat. Am I close?”

  His work done, the elephant abruptly jumped out of the Jeep to head for the Elephant-In-The-Room-Exchange to get his next assignment.

  “Well, yes, I guess that’s what I mean. Aside from your letter, we haven’t talked about it and you know you can certainly tell me anything; vent, rage, cry, spill, anything at all. You know you’re safe with me.”

  Rather than driving on, she pulled the Jeep over to the side of the road and shut down the engine. She looked at me with those intense black eyes. For one uncomfortable moment I could imagine staring into them and getting lost in her exotica. My brain immediately reminded me that this was Ronnie, my friend and partner, and I snapped out of it.

  “Yes, Dan, I know. Next to my brother Roje and my mother, I feel as at ease and comfortable with you as with anyone.” She paused, looking down for a moment. Then once again turned those black pools on me. “I am not ashamed to say that I haven’t experienced one moment’s regret or remorse for what happened that night at sea in that storm. Yes, Roje acted in my defense and initially I was shocked to see Finacci fall limp at my feet. I immediately knew he was dead and just as immediately I was okay with it. He was a low-life thug who exploited peoples’ weaknesses for his own profit and he was also a cold-blooded murder. The world was well rid of him.

  “But I knew I had come to a crossroads in my life. I guess you could say I took the ch
icken way out and fled rather than face up to accountability for my actions. But I rationalized and took the other option. I also had Roje to consider. Yes, he had known what we were doing when we put Finacci on the Sea Nymph but our intention was to get a confession out of him for the murder of Louie Calzone, not to kill him. Roje had not signed up for that.” Then, a little sheepishly she added, “I also didn’t want you to be smeared by whatever shit would come flying my way. You didn’t need that.

  “So, Dan, here I am. And here you are. Are you here to arrest me and return me to New York? If so, I need to tell you I’m not going back and, remember, I have a gun, it’s loaded, and I know how to use it.”

  I stared at her and decided that she was half-serious, at least about asking me if I were there to arrest her. I was quite sure she wasn’t about to put a gun to my head. Yes, quite sure. Well, at least fairly certain. The intensity in her eyes was disconcerting.

  “Well, Detective Deveaux, I mean former Detective Deveaux, I don’t happen to have my cuffs with me and, frankly, I’ve forgotten exactly how the Miranda Rights thing goes. So I guess I’ll give you a pass.”

  She nodded. “Good answer because if you had answered otherwise, well, let’s just say Mr. Justin Case would have ended up deep in the Jamaican jungle with a python wrapped around his neck.”

  I blinked a couple of times and decided she wasn’t serious. Well, maybe only half-serious. “Are there really pythons here?”

  “No, no pythons.” Pregnant pause.” Just many boas and they’re bigger. And they can really squeeeeze.” I could barely make out a smirk on her lips.

  She restarted the Jeep and we took the next left and headed north back toward the sea. After a couple of minutes I tapped her shoulder. “Hey, you don’t really have a gun with you, do you?”

  She laughed and reached under her seat coming up with a small revolver. “Like I said, it’s loaded, and I know how to use it.” She clicked off the safety and fired it into the air causing me to flinch. Then she emitted a maniacal laugh. I laughed too although my laugh was weaker and a little forced.