The Plantation paj-1

by Chris Kuzneski

  “The post,” Webster said, “was a two-step process. Step one was the attachment phase. In order to prevent a messy scene later, the slave needed to be attached to the post in the most appropriate fashion. According to the journals that I’ve read, there was one method in particular that was quite popular.”

  Holmes raised the tip of the metal spike and ran it through the back of Jimmy’s hair, tracing the ridges of his skull, looking for the proper insertion point. Once it was located, Holmes lifted his hammer, slowly, silently. The crowd, realizing what was about to be done, gasped with fear and shouted pleas of protest, but to Holmes, the murmur of shock sounded like a beautiful chorus, only adding to his enjoyment.

  With a flick of his wrist, Holmes shoved the nail through the elastic tissue of Jimmy’s outer ear, piercing the cartilage with a sickening snap. Before Jimmy could even yelp in pain, Holmes followed the attack with a swift swing of the hammer, driving the nail deep into the wood, anchoring the ear to the post.

  After a moment of shock, Jimmy screamed in agony, then made things far worse for himself by trying to pull his head away from the wood. It was a horrible mistake. The more he pulled, the more flesh he tore, causing sharp waves of pain to surge through his skull. Blood trickled, then gushed down the side of his face. Warm rivulets of crimson flowed over his whiskered cheek, adding gore to the already vicious attack.

  And the sight of it was too much for his family to endure.

  In the crowd, Jimmy’s sixteen-year-old daughter, Susan, fainted from the gruesome scene. The image of her battered father was simply too much for her to handle. Tommy and Scooter, his two boys, vomited, then dropped to their knees in a series of spasmodic heaves. They had never seen anything that horrible in their young lives.

  Unfortunately, the brutal part was yet to come.

  With his left forearm, Holmes slammed Ross’s face against the post. “Stop your fuckin’ squirming,” he grunted. “You’re just causing more pain.”

  “Okay,” Ross sobbed, willing to do anything to stop the agony. “Okay!”

  “I promise if you stop moving, I’ll let you go. I’ll free you from the post.”

  “All right, whatever you say!” He took an unsteady breath, wanting to believe the vicious man. “I will. I swear! I’ll stay still.”

  Holmes nodded. Things were so much easier to complete with a calm victim.

  “Good,” he hissed, “because your squirming is ruining my souvenir!”

  From the constraints of his belt, Holmes unsheathed his stiletto, slipping the five-inch blade behind Ross’s head. Then, while calming his victim with words of reassurance, Holmes lowered the razor-sharp edge to the tip of Jimmy’s ear, pausing briefly to enjoy the scene. He truly loved this part. The quiet before the storm. The silence before the screams. There was something about it that was so magical, so fulfilling, that he couldn’t put it into words.

  Finally, when the moment felt right, Holmes finished the job. He removed the ear with a single slice, severing the cartilage from the side of Jimmy’s head in one swift slash, like a movie on the life of Vincent Van Gogh.

  A wave of pain crashed over Jimmy, knocking him to the ground. Blood oozed from his open wound, flooding his neck and shoulder with a sea of red. That, coupled with his loud screams, caused his wife to break from formation. She rushed to his side, crying, hoping to administer as much first aid as possible, but there wasn’t much she could do.

  Her husband was missing his ear, and she didn’t have a sewing kit.

  “The second part of this punishment, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, was the removal of the ear,” Webster said. “As a sign of the white man’s power, it was left hanging on the post right outside the slaves’ cabins for several days. Not surprisingly, it was an effective way to get the master’s message to his slaves.

  If you do something wrong, you will pay for it in agony!

  ”

  Holmes stared at his souvenir, left dangling from the pole like a freshly slaughtered pig. “And that, my friends, is how the Listening Post was born.”

  CHAPTER 33

  PAYNE

  wasn’t sure about Greene until that very moment, but one look into his eyes told him everything he needed to know. The Buffalo Soldier was a member of the Posse.

  “Were you always with them, or did they get to you after we showed up in New Orleans?”

  Jones’s eyes widened when he heard Payne’s proclamation. “What are you talking about?”

  But Payne ignored him. “Just answer me that, Levon. From the beginning or just recently? I’ve got to know. To me, it’ll make all the difference in the world.”

  Greene continued to stare at Payne, no emotions crossing his face.

  “Come on, Levon, just one little answer. Which was it? Before we arrived, or after?”

  Greene refused to dignify the question, and to Jones, the silence was maddening. Because of his current position, he couldn’t see what was going on. “Bennie!” he called, trying to get involved in the conversation. He strained his neck, trying to find the dreadlocked servant. “Bennie! Help a brother out! Kick me closer to the action! Anything!”

  “Be quiet,” Payne ordered. “If my guess is correct, Bennie’s one of them, too, so he won’t help you. He’s on Levon’s side.”

  Jones’s eyes got even larger. He had no idea where any of Payne’s theories were coming from, but the mere possibility that they were true was mind-blowing. “Bennie? Levon? Guards? Will somebody tell me what the hell is going on? I’m supposed to be the detective here. Someone throw me a crumb.”

  Payne shook his head. “D.J., just shut up and listen. Levon’s about to tell us everything.”

  Greene glanced at Jones, then returned his gaze to Payne. “I can’t believe you, man. How can you think that after all the things I’ve done for you? I showed you my city. I let you sleep in my house. I let you eat my food-”

  Payne interrupted him. “You gave us faulty guns. You tried to have us shot. You kidnapped my girlfriend. . . . Should I go on?”

  “No,” Greene growled, “you shouldn’t. I’ve heard all that I’m gonna take. You called me up, and I went out of my way to help you guys. And this is how you’re gonna repay me? You accuse me of trying to have you killed? Get fucking real!”

  In a burst of rage, Greene kicked a nearby rock, then stormed away in anger. But that was fine with Payne, because it gave him a chance to talk to Jones.

  “Do you believe me?” he asked.

  Jones tried to shrug. “I know you too well not to believe you, but I’d love to hear something that supports your theory.”

  Payne nodded. “Bennie? Do you want to fill him in, or should I?”

  Blount glanced at the two men near his feet, then stared at Greene in the distance. “I thinks you better do the talkin’. I don’t wanna make Mr. Greene mad at me.”

  Payne smiled. Blount was a hard man to read, but if Payne’s theory about Greene was correct, then Blount had to know more than he was willing to reveal. He simply had to.

  “Okay, Bennie, have it your way. I’ll do all of the talking. . . . Remember how things started bugging me on the boat? How my gut knew something was wrong? Well, it was the guards. The guards acted wrong when we showed up.”

  Jones scrunched his face. “The guards? I could barely see the guards from the boat, but you could tell that they did something wrong? What, are you psychic or something?”

  “When we pulled up to the dock, they approached the boat expecting Bennie. They called to him, asking about the fireworks. Remember? But before Bennie could say anything, Levon told them about a security problem and started giving orders. Right?”

  Jones nodded his head.

  “What did they do after that?”

  “They jumped to attention.”

  “And then?”

  Jones thought back, trying to remember. He knew the guards ran onto the dock, following Greene’s instructions, but he couldn’t recall anything else. “I give up. Tell me.”


  “What did they do with their guns?”

  It took a moment, but the solution eventually popped into his head. “I’ll be damned. They threw them to the ground, didn’t they?”

  “Even though Levon should’ve been a stranger to these guys, he tells them that there’s a security problem, and they throw away their guns. How in the hell does that make any sense? Come on, even mall security guards would know better than that! Unless . . .”

  “Unless they were told what to expect ahead of time.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  Jones nodded, admiring his friend’s theory. “I have to admit, that’s pretty good. In fact, I’d give you a round of applause, but . . .”

  “You can’t because we let Levon tie us up?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Probably not the brightest thing in the world that we could’ve done, huh?”

  “Nope. Probably not.”

  “Right up there with being handcuffed to the desk, isn’t it?”

  Jones smiled. The last few days had suddenly become cyclical. “So, did you have doubts about Levon before the guards?”

  “Nope. The guards woke me up, but then I started to think back over the past couple of days. The broken guns, his rule against police involvement, his escape through Sam’s secret door, his discovery of Bennie, and so on. I figured all of that was too coincidental to be a coincidence.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. Detective work should never be

  this

  easy. I mean, two days ago, we were in Pittsburgh with a license plate and a tattoo as our only clues, and here we are on the threshold of finding Ariane. Please! Things were too simple.”

  “To be honest, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure about Levon until I mentioned it to him. There was a look in his eye that told me everything. He looked like a big ol’ dog that was caught sleeping on the couch-guilt all over his face!”

  “It wasn’t guilt,” Greene remarked. He had circled in behind them, trying to acquire as much information as possible. “It was shock. I couldn’t believe that you caught onto me. I thought I’d done everything right.”

  “Don’t kick yourself.” Payne sighed. “It was the guards’ fault. They ruined the entire scene. They should be fired immediately.”

  “I concur,” Jones echoed. “In fact, I think you have a big future in acting, just like that other ex-football player from Buffalo. Hmm? What was his name? O.J. something.”

  “Nah, Levon’s too good for that! He decided to skip O.J.’s second career and went right to his third . . . a life of crime!”

  Jones laughed. Then, using the melody and the accent of the classic Bob Marley song, he began to sing. “He’s just a Buffalo Convict . . . works for da Posse! He took a bunch of steroids . . . now he’s their boss-y!”

  “That was clever,” Greene admitted. “Very clever indeed.”

  Jones gave him a big wink. “Thank you, Louisiana! I’ll be here all week!”

  “Actually, you will be. Might not be alive the whole time, but we’ll worry about that later.”

  Payne twisted his head and glanced at Jones. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to worry about that now.”

  “Damn.” Greene laughed. “You guys don’t stop. I thought your black humor was just an act, but you guys are even like this in the darkest of situations.”

  Payne ignored the comment, opting to change the subject. “Hey, Levon? I gotta know. Did you sell us out before we came to New Orleans or after?”

  A grin crossed Greene’s lips. Since his cover was blown, he figured the answer to one question wouldn’t do too much damage to his ruined reputation. He crouched to his knees so he could stare Payne in the eyes. The kindness that had been present during the past few days had been replaced by a cold, hard glare.

  “Jon, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve been involved with the Plantation from the very beginning. And just so you know, if you had told me why you needed my help during your initial phone call, I wouldn’t have invited you down here. Can you imagine my surprise when you finally told me why you were in town? I almost shit myself! But at that point, what was I to do? You were digging, and I had to stop you. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Then why not kill us? Why take the time to lure us here?”

  “Well, as you mentioned, I did try to kill you. I didn’t want to personally pull the trigger, but I set things up at Sam’s. Unfortunately, the damn sniper screwed that up. After that it would be too suspicious if you were killed somewhere else in the city this weekend. I figured getting you off the mainland was a better way to take care of things.”

  “And what about Ariane? Why did you bring her here?”

  Greene sighed. He was getting bored with the inquisition and knew that the rest of his partners were waiting for him. “I’m afraid that’s a question that will have to wait. They’re about to make a big announcement, and I don’t want to ruin their surprise.”

  CHAPTER 34

  THE

  ringing telephone brought a smile to Harris Jackson’s face. He’d been expecting a call for several minutes now, and when it didn’t come, his anxiety began to rise. But now that the call was here, he was finally able to relax.

  “Master Jackson, this is Eric down at the dock. Bennie and Master Greene just left our area, and they’re headed your way.”

  “And the prisoners?”

  “They’re tied up and docile. I don’t think they’ll be causing you any problems.”

  “Good,” sighed Jackson. Since Payne and Jones had been a nuisance in New Orleans, he figured they might continue the trend on the island, especially since he’d learned of their military background. But now that he knew they were under control, he felt a whole lot better about their presence at the Plantation. “Very good indeed!”

  “What’s good?” asked an eavesdropping Holmes.

  Jackson hung up his cellular phone. “The two prisoners will be here shortly. No problems.”

  Holmes patted Jackson on the back. “Nice work, Harris. It seems your guards have everything under control.”

  “It seems that way, but we’ll find out for sure in a moment.” Jackson pointed to the truck as it emerged from the trees of the outer grounds. “Why don’t you tell Ndjai to keep the captives busy while I check into things? Come on down when you’re done.”

  Holmes agreed and went on his way.

  “Master Webster!” Jackson shouted. “Join me for a minute, would you?”

  The two men walked cautiously toward the truck, not knowing what to expect. When they saw the huge grin on Greene’s face, they knew that things were fine. Holmes joined them a short second later, and the three of them finished the trip in unison.

  “Gentlemen,” Greene crowed, “Bennie and I should win an Oscar for this. We just put on a spectacular performance.”

  “Bennie helped out?” Jackson asked.

  “He practically carried it by himself! You should’ve seen the performance he put on. Unbelievable! His acting is even better than his cooking.” Greene signaled for Blount to get out of the truck, and he willingly obliged. “Come out here and take a bow. You deserve it!”

  “We heard you did a great job!”

  “Congratulations, Bennie!”

  Blount was flabbergasted. He had never been treated nicely by his bosses before. “Thanks,” he mumbled, barely smiling. He simply didn’t know how to react to their compliments.

  “So,” Greene asked, “what are we going to do with them now?”

  “You mean the new arrivals?” Holmes glanced into the flatbed of the truck and saw Payne and Jones, bound. “You know ’em better than we do. What do you think should be done?”

  Greene considered the question, but it was obvious that he already had a plan in mind.

  “For the time being, we need to keep Payne and Jones as far away from the other prisoners as possible. We don’t want them mentioning my name or our location to anyone. Then, after you guys make your big announcem
ent, I think it would be best if my friends were eliminated. I figure, why take any unnecessary chances with men like these?”

  ONCE the foursome had finished their discussion, they walked back to the prisoners and allowed Webster to finish his speech. Earlier, he had prepared the captives for his announcement by lecturing them on the concepts of freedom, slavery, and punishment, yet there was no way that they could be ready for what he was about to reveal.

  “The concept of the Plantation came to me several years ago, back when I was in college. As part of my major, I was required to take a class in American history. The topic we were discussing was the Civil War, and somehow my white professor managed to talk during the entire class without mentioning black people. In my opinion, the Civil War was fought over the concept of slavery, and that white bastard managed to steer clear of the topic. After class I approached him and asked him about his oversight. I figured he’d tell me that an upcoming lecture would be devoted to slavery, or I’d get to learn about the topic in a future reading. But do you know what he had the audacity to say? He said,

  ‘Over the years, the impact of slavery in this country has become greatly overrated.’

  Can you believe that? We’re talking about the main cause of the Civil War, and my professor tells me that it was overrated! Well, right then and there, I knew what I wanted to do with my life. I decided to devote my life to the promotion of black history, emphasizing the cruel history of slavery in our so-called Land of the Free.

  “But how does one do that? I wasn’t really sure, but I knew I needed to get America’s attention. That’s why I immediately ruled out papers, studies, or projects. Why? Most people won’t pay attention to academics. What I needed was something spectacular, something unforgettable, something that would get this issue noticed. But what?

  “Before I made my decision, I thought it was best if I did some extensive research on the topic. I read books and journals and manuscripts and diaries-anything that I could find about the topic of slavery-and before long, one common theme stood out: plantations! Everything I read about slavery in America mentioned plantations as the focal point. Plantations were the place where slaves lived, worked, birthed, and died. It’s where they escaped from when they could and returned when they were caught. For better or worse, plantations were the center of the black man’s world!