Bad II the Bone

by Anton Marks

  The black trilby on top of his head shielded a face whose skin was pulled tight over the contours of his skull but he wasn’t repellent to look at by any means, his body was conservative, requiring him to be lean, shedding all fat in his frame leaving only the necessary reserves. His eyes were dark and deep set with eyebrows ridging them like bony canopies shielding a cunning mind. If you were sensitive enough you could discern the stink of corruption that enveloped him like the atmosphere of a dead star. Maybe even sense how he siphoned off the dark energies flowing in abundance from the brutality, corruption and depravity of the city, storing it in his wiry frame like a gross capacitor bending it to his will and intention as he saw fit.

  His gift.

  As the dark clouds swirled overhead eagerly preparing for a downpour, their innards lit by forks of lightning, the sounds of thunder reverberated through the heavens with the violence of what was to come.

  The tall man looked down to the end of the road with certainty borne of expectation. His deep set eyes glazed for a moment and a grey tinted Volvo materialized from around the corner and drove up to the prison gates. Aware but unconcerned about the droplets of rain spearing into the forecourt and the car pulling up beside him, his focus was firmly set on three days hence. He had an errand to attend to back-a-yard in Jamaica. Then, and only then, would he be fully equipped to punish the ones who had betrayed him, recoup the trinkets he had acquired and reacquaint himself with the most important person in his life; his son. Until then, until he cut out their gallbladders and reduced them to dust under his feet, he had things to do.

  But nuh fret, soon every knee shall bow an every tongue confess...

  5.

  Metal Works Gym

  Sunday, July 7th

  20.35

  The downstairs bar at Metal Works Gym, Uxbridge Road was charged with the excitement of its clientele anticipating the evening ahead but you would be forgiven if you thought the bar-tender had just slipped some rum or whiskey into fruit juices such was the exuberance. The regulars dotted around the modern floor plan, the professionals flexing biceps every opportunity they had in front of admirers and the other cliques in pensive or boisterous discussion.

  Of course it was a Friday evening and the relief that they had left the drudgery of work and had completed reps, jogs, lifts and tans was self evident.

  As they gulped and slurped down the healthy living concoctions and live foods, they gave no thought to how soon they would be immersed in alcohol and nicotine at some night spot reversing all the good they had done for the week.

  So who gives a shit?

  Every table was high spirited...except this one.

  Just behind the large central column, furthest from the entrance and cut off from the view of the main area was The Corner. This portion of the ground floor was lavishly roped with silk, set with plush seats, ornate carpets and equipped with state of the art electronic entertainment. Simply walking past the sign that read ‘For VIP Use Only’ meant the handsome - depending on your sexual persuasion - Georgio would be catering for your every need, making you soon believe trekking over to the bar for anything was a preoccupation for commoners.

  Why then was the gloom around this table so thick and all consuming that it could be scooped up with a spoon and served with a side order of self pity?

  Y, Patra and Suzy sat in the shadow, their fruit juices in front of them sweating profusely with a mixture of expressions on their faces that ranged from disgust to anger.

  The lights were dimmed and Mary J Blige was in uncompromising vocal form. On the walls were pictures of Lady Saw in gangster mode, Lil Kim letting it all hang out, Pam Grier as Cleopatra Jones and the mouth watering abs and sundry assets of Tyson Beckford and LL Cool J, honorees in their fit body Rogues gallery.

  Moments before they had been ‘bussing a sweat’ as Suzy would fondly say – in their preferred martial arts disciplines.

  The sessions had been savage affairs, which forced the kickboxing instructor to make the decision that punching bags would be preferable to real life sparring partners for fear of injury. He even stayed on the sidelines to watch them take out their foul mood on the punching bags and he was a third Degree black belt. It was only after two hours of grueling work that the instructor insisted they take a break and the posse ended up downstairs.

  Patra shuffled her Reebok-clad feet that had been well and truly planted on the table since they had gathered there. Her chair was on its two back legs rocking gently to and fro as she nonchalantly broke the no smoking regulations, puffing contemplatively on an aromatic cigarillo.

  Suzy crossed her legs and slouched back, her blue Adidas track suit making crisp ruffling sounds of newness with her hands behind her neck while Y sat painfully upright as if she was about to announce that something rather uncomfortable was sticking up under her ass.

  No need to speak if the situation didn’t warrant speech, right? The girls had to simply caste their minds back and the emptiness of loss reminded them.

  In one day they had their lives upturned and Y, feeling left out, rashly gave her boss the abridged version of why she despised her and the nail technician job she had been doing for the last two years with two choice words.

  Suzy attempted to lift the morose vibe.

  “I drove by deh property, today,” Suzy said, trying not to show how painful it had been seeing the unfulfilled aspirations wrapped up in the guise of bricks and mortar.

  Y and Patra responded with nods and grunts; they too were obviously still raw with hurt and Suzy was beginning to regret mentioning it. What Suzy had failed to mention was that she had pulled up to 123 Destiny Street - the name was an omen in itself - parked her old Peugeot 307 and sat staring at a dream that to all but her was dead. This is where it was all supposed to begin, where the magic would happen. Ground floor was supposed to be Y's and solely dedicated to Nails and Beauty. Y had plans of starting off with the basics offering them acrylic nails and nail art, manicure, pedicure, then upgrading her services to the more flashy skin treatments.

  The first floor would be her baby of health and fitness and the second floor would be Patra’s focus of fashion.

  “We had that bitch worked out,” Patra’s words derailing Suzy's memories.

  Suzy shook her head as if it was with some effort she could convince them that their ambitions weren’t crumbling before their eyes.

  "Yuh know I still can't shake deh feeling that this place was meant for us."

  "I'm glad at least one of us is still holding on to the possibility because where I'm sitting from our situation looks hopeless." Y ran her fingers through her short cropped hair.

  "No shit!” Patra added for emphasis. “We were supposed to give the landlady a deposit."

  "And the lease agreement was to be signed next week."

  "Suh there yuh go then sis. We still have two weeks to manifest something feh redeem us, after we explain tings to Mrs Benjamin, she will understand."

  “That is so cute,” Y smiled falsely.

  “Mrs Benjamin, a hardnosed Jewish business woman, won’t have the need or time to sit down and commiserate with us on our financial loss. There is no four month extension Sue and even if there were, where would we get thirty thousand pounds from?”

  Suzy glided off her stool and made two steps towards Y shaking her head.

  “Yuh just can’t see it, can yuh? Do you really believe that Mrs Benjamin or even Tyrone can stand in the way of what will be? I can’t explain it and I know your nature is asking for proof. Even after everyting you’ve seen and experienced yuh still unsure.” Suzy considered a thought for a moment. “If we sit dung and gain clarity together, are my feelings ever wrong?”

  “No.” said Y.

  Suzy sat down with an air of justification.

  “Okay, so what do we do now then?” Y asked.

  “We guh about our business, of course. Still making plans but not worrying about Destiny Street. Who knows, something bigger and better could be waiting in t
he wings for us.”

  Y let the sarcasm slide from her tone recalling the many mysteries that surrounded them together and as individuals. Ordinary was not a word you used to describe them.

  “I’m just feeling like the control of my life is being wrestled from me.”

  With an unusual burst of the profound Patra said:

  “We not losing control baby, we just going with the flow.” She took a puff of her slim-line cigar and blew rings into the vents. “We ain’t fighting the surf just letting it take us out to sea.”

  “Amen.” Suzy said changing the subject. “I was reasoning wid Mas P when I arrived earlier today,” Suzy said her manicured fingers touching her chin.

  “How’s he doing?” Patra asked.

  “Him safe,” Suzy said.” We got to talking an’ one ting led to another and he decided to help cheer us up.”

  “You told him then?” Y asked with a snarl.

  “Of course mi tell him,” Suzy matched her pitch, her eyes narrowing. “Deh man is almost like family. I know wi save him life but him guh above an’ beyond feh wi many times in the past, just to say how much him appreciate what we did. Don’t forget dat.”

  Y folded her arms and nodded with a contrite purse of her lips.

  “Anyway, Mas P gracefully hook we up with three VIP tickets to the MOBO’s this coming Friday night with limousine to and from deh location.”

  Y’s eyes bulged.

  Patra whistled.

  “Damn! For an Indian playa he’s got game, man.”

  “An’ he’s looking after his girls dem from him heart. Yuh have to love him feh dat?” Suzy was looking over to Y, whose facial muscles twitched, struggling to translate the messages indicating excitement and joy to her face.

  “Sue, I’m sorry,” Y said finally, “I’m just not handling this well. I can’t get that calculating, spiteful shit out of my mind.”

  Y breathed out sharply.

  Patra rolled the cigarillo in her mouth and licked at the tip lovingly. Y and Suzy smiled at each other as Patra went through her ritual. For someone who was about to break the no smoking in an enclosed building laws she looked suspiciously as if she was performing oral sex.

  She lit up and blew smoke circles, again.

  Y paced over to the smooth central column and leaned against it keeping their deliberations unseen from the rest of the gym.

  “He’s messing up every meditation session I have.”

  Y drifted, her shoulders and arms tensing on the concrete as if she was about to topple the temple of Dagon on the heathen.

  Slowly she coaxed her focus away from some point in space, wiped her eyes and stared back at them.

  “I can’t help thinking I could have done more.”

  Patra shot a stream of smoke to the ceiling extractors.

  “You taking this shit waaay too personal sugahh,” she said coolly. “Motherfucker was a con artist pure and simple. Blaming yourself now ain’t going to remedy shit. Focus on payback baby.”

  “That a deh truth,” Suzy agreed. “I suppose yuh haven’t talked to John bout this yet? Maybe dat will give you some closure.”

  “True dat, girlfriend,” Patra laughed. “And you know closure ain’t the only thing he wants to give to you.”

  Y kissed her teeth and made a face.

  “I called and left a message and he hasn’t got back to me yet. He must be really busy,” said Y. “But I’m still not sure I should tell him though.”

  Strangely the innocent question had the effect of injecting this whole unfortunate situation with a ray of light for Y at least.

  Detective Sergeant Winston Shaft McFarlane was the type of man a healthy chunk of the female population would not think twice about suppressing any morals or shame they had and try by any means at their disposal to make him theirs, wholly.

  As in body and soul.

  He was in his mid thirties, one of the youngest Detective’s in the country, handsome, intelligent and with an ass you dreamed of taking a long leisurely nibble off - not that she had but the thought had crossed her mind too many times not to mention it.

  Winston was like the unofficial fourth part of the posse. He had been the investigating officer at the bank robbery which had created this friendship.

  It was one of those memorable scenes that just stuck with you. Wearing shades and an expression that said ’stay cool, goddamn it’ he walked onto the fresh crime scene. The employees frantic, the customers relieved and still trying to understand the incredible events that had taken place. The players were still in place when the cavalry had arrived. One of the robbers was unconscious at Suzy’s feet, Patra nervously pointing a gun to one of the men’s head swearing and Y holding another in a headlock, The Rock would have been proud of.

  There was no expression of amazement, no sexist remarks just a caring concern for their well being after such a traumatic situation.

  On that day a great deal of respect developed between them and they continued to see him outside of his professional sphere as a detective, Y more than anybody else.

  “If anybody can give us some pointers on this cat, John can,” Patra said. “Just make sure you hook up with him. And Y? Remember business first and the butt naked sex comes later, yeah.”

  “We’re good friends,” Y protested weakly.

  “Whatever,” Patra grinned.

  They realised Suzy had gone mystic on them after they had finished teasing each other.

  Waiting as they always did for her to rejoin them, Suzy opened her eyes slowly. Meditation was her way of keeping herself and the world in check.

  “Someting will turn up for us, it won’t end like this,” Suzy looked at Y, her voice losing its cold edge.

  “If we keep talking about this motherfucker, he would have won. And there’s no way his raggedy ass is going to have shit over me.” Patra smiled cunningly, her hi-lighted corn rows glowing under the lights. “If anybody can pull us out of this shit with a plan you can sugahh. We’ve done this before?”

  “We have, haven’t we,” Y said smiling.

  Y’s posture noticeably changed, a wave of determination snapping her into her former shape. The dejected slump in her shoulders corrected itself and a spark of optimism shone in her eyes. She walked back over to Suzy and Patra, hugging them in turn then making herself comfortable in her chair.

  “So where do we go from here?” Patra asked.

  Her legs crossed, Y made semi-circular movements with her toes.

  The girls needed hope and what could she offer them?

  The nervous twist of Suzy’s lips and the frustrated shake of her head, Patra fought the turmoil inside by being cool, her hand unsteady as she brought the cigarillo to her lips, Y felt as if she was carrying a hollow burden of despair, like a chunk of rock had been forced into her chest.

  What in God’s name could she say to them?

  It was clear how much she owed the girls. How much they believed that together they could make a difference. This calamity was her fault and her responsibility and she wouldn’t allow herself to forget it.

  The rest of the posse looked on.

  “The facts are straight-forward,” Y said. “We’re broke. Any ideas we had of leasing the property for our little business venture is dead. No deposit, no two months in advance, no cash for refurbishment, nuthin’. Even if there was more time, which there isn’t, we still couldn’t come up with the cash to save the deal. I have a feeling that how things are going just now, even the bank would gazump our ass, just for the hell of it. Bad II the Bone will not be a reality any time soon.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Patra mumbled.

  “Wha bout Mr Patel?” Suzy asked. “Money is no object for a Don like dat. Him would lend us cash without a murmur but I‘m not sure how mi would feel about dat.”

  “After we helped to solve the problem he had with those Punjabi boys, he knows we have his back. He went out of his way to repay us, though. Free lifetime membership at the club, he virtually
built the corner for our convenience. I just couldn’t find it in my heart to borrow money from him, as well.”

  “I could.” Patra quipped.

  Y patted her on the shoulder.

  “One of these days girlfriend, we’ll have a long talk about having principles.”

  Patra shrugged as the comment flew over her head to outer space. Y kept on.

  “If we play our cards right we won’t need to compromise our values to make this work. We depend on ourselves and focus on the goal one more time. If we can‘t then we start asking for help.”

  “Back on form, mi gal,” Suzy taunted, realising the old ideas machine was starting to chug into action again.

  “Don’t keep us hanging, girl,” Patra added.“What’s happenin?”

  “Discovery...” Y continued. “We will dig deep and find some creative means to make money. We’ll be looking for things that are out of the ordinary to claw ourselves back at least to an even keel. I don’t even want to think about the three years it took us to save what we just lost. Six months is all I’m giving ourselves to get back to where we were before all this happened, and believe me it will take some revolutionary thinking to achieve it. Forget about what we did before, that got us here. To pull this off we’re going to need some serious personal power,” she paused for dramatic effect then frowned.

  Y needed a rallying cry. Girl power was too tacky, a bit namby pamby, back in the day, for what she was looking for. She needed a battle cry, a call to arms that was raw and incisive.

  Y beamed.

  “The Pum-Pum Factor.”

  “I like the sound a dat,” Suzy laughed.

  “It has a bad-ass ring to it.” Patra joined in.

  They held hands.

  “To the next six months then,” Y announced. ”And like the old Chinese saying, may we live in interesting times.”