Bad II the Bone

by Anton Marks

  The prolific smokers she could not abide by.

  Maybe these thoughts triggered a faint taste of nicotine that had suddenly appeared on her tongue and a creeping sense of expectancy slivering up her spine.

  The call was coming and she could do nothing to stop it. Her taste buds exploded with the taste of tar and copper. Suzy had not felt it since the last time a situation presented itself to them. A compulsion she had no choice but to attend to.

  You know what yuh got to do gal, don’t fight it.

  It was an almost primal urge, galvanizing her into looking over her shoulder. She spun in her seat following an unseen flow and let it gently guide her to the area of a fire exit on her right. Suzy with her glass in hand sipped again, the bubbles popping on her nose, her eyes locked on two casually dressed men who were in easy conversation. As if to punctuate the importance of what was being communicated to her, time dialed itself down to a crawl. In that instance, deep in the shadow a stray glimmer of light, from the state of the art lighting rig, that only Suzy could see reflected off machined chrome and tempered steel. A revelation that in a fractured second showed an automatic weapon, casually caressed in a shoulder holster of one of the men and then concealed by a fine linen designer jacket, anonymous again as if it never was there.

  Suzy absorbed the scene, time resuming its pace and knew without knowing that the men’s intentions were not protection but chaos. She downed the rest of her water, the phantom nicotine taste making it difficult, and turned away. Patra was about five meters behind her, a cloud of male bodies orbiting from the power of her female gravity. Both women’s eyes locked and whatever weird connection they possessed communicated concern. Miss P left the attention being showered on her and danced over to her sister’s side. Suzy threw a gaze back over to the duo of gunmen and watched the body language shift from preparation to determination. An intention was set at that moment between them and they set off from the fire exit with an inconspicuous gait.

  “What’s good, mami?” Patra questioned and without looking away from the men, Suzy spoke low and harsh.

  “It’s happenin. The call is here.”

  “You, serious?” Patra asked.

  Suzy nodded.

  “Bring it on, baby.” Patra hooted.

  “Wi could walk away?” Suzy asked.

  Patra’s laugh was like a shower of broken glass.

  “You trippin, bitch? You know better than me that when it hollas, we come running. No sense fighting it, embrace it baby.

  “No sense.” Suzy said and watched Patra’s perfectly formed eyebrows arched enquiringly.

  “Dem two guys in the linen suits, one with deh cane row, the other with a low cut fade an deh gangsta lean, strap up. Shottas.”

  “How them niggas taste?”

  “Copper and tar.”

  “Damn, shit gonna pop off, then.”

  “It bound to.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” Patra laughed. “And I was beginning to feel this party.”

  “Let’s deal wid this, first.” Suzy said. “And hope we have a party to come back to.”

  They peeled from the bar with Suzy taking the lead and snaked through the revelers on an intercept course of the two men making an unhurried walk to the VIP area. Contrary to what you would think, Suzy’s mind wasn’t filled with action plans and scenarios. That wasn’t how the gifts worked. They would place themselves in the wild, unpredictable currents of fate, destiny or predestination, the word wasn’t important. What was important, was that they listened with their whole bodies dipped into the waters chaos and let it take them instinctively.

  A veil of adrenalin blanketed Suzy’s nervous system in a warm hug that had the effect of jump starting her senses to the level required to do what she had to do. With every touch and every glance of contact as she glided through the pockets of revelry, her sense of preparedness ramped up like spark plugs firing from a high performance car.

  Suzy reached an impasse quicker than she had thought and gracefully stopped, making an assessment of three men whose timing stank and who were preparing for some chit-chat as they blocked the path of one of the finest honeys in the place. Suzy regurgitated a smile with effort and was preparing to pull back and veer right when an upwind of Christina Aguilera perfume whisked by her. The forcefulness of Y’s personality was enough to disperse the male ego’s intent on playing boys’ games at an inopportune moment.

  Bwoy better know, Suzy thought.

  They backed off.

  Y’s question was direct and unambiguous.

  “Is it serious?”

  “Is the call ever not? We have two shottas and dem intentions are not honorable.” Suzy said.

  “How the hell did they get past security?” Y asked aloud.

  “They were invited in.”

  A simple, unequivocal truth.

  Y looked over to the right to see Patra keeping step and winking at her sisters. The men had crossed one side of the dance space and were close to the other without much resistance. Their silhouettes merged amongst the invited guests and they even shimmied with a few women as they made a path to whoever was their target but Suzy’s gaze never faltered, her irises tracking them like crosshairs of a sniper. The game was always the same. Knowing what their intentions were and beating them to it. That involved allowing her crisis senses to evaluate the situation and guide her movements. She allowed her reasoning self to step back and let intuition take hold and moved with a purpose that was still unclear. Now there were three sets of eyes attuned to the threat, processing the situation in three unique ways, filtering what was useful and what could be discarded, allowing a conclusion about all this to come to them while they took action.

  Without missing a step Y’s sweeping focus fell on the VIP lounge tucked away in the corner of the plush floor plan, all protruding ribbed glass making a statement of its importance and the suited bouncer on duty like an obsidian sentinel.

  Then, like a flash of brilliant awareness, the shared puzzle slotted into place. The Grime Rapper Grudge is standing outside of the confines of the VIP space reasoning with the bouncer with his characteristic gesticulations and body language. The revelation made Y gasp as it became all so clear what was about to go down.

  Y brashly took point and it was if instructions were being sent below their level of conscious awareness to Patra and Suzy to follow her lead. Suzy naturally fell back as support and Patra ran interference. Any changes in what they were about to do would be communicated with body language and a finely honed sense of the group spatial dynamics they exhibited.

  As was expected, a gaggle of honeys were holding vigil outside the entrance to the VIP lounge and the flash antics of Grudge playing up to his drooling groupies would make this confrontation interesting. The shottas were out of sight for a moment as they circumvented a thick chrome plated support pillar but the moment they swung around from that, Grudge would be in the line of fire. She had to reach him before they did.

  Spokes had a glass of brandy in his hand, head back slightly and propped up on the bar bathing himself in the aura of celebrity that was on show tonight. The MOBO VIP lounge was getting busy and, as you would expect, the quota of women far surpassed the quota of men. And he suspected that was how it was supposed to be. He fitted in perfectly. Not just his look which was mature but street but his easy way and that underlying attitude he had that said he was deserving of everything that came his way. It was an understated belief that he was as good as anyone, from the hip hop superstar to the Premiership footballer. Just look at him.

  Dressed elegantly but with a contemporary flair and drove a top marquee sports Mercedes from a stable of super cars. His date for the night was thirty six years his junior and she was a freak in bed with a good heart. Money was not a problem for him and if he was allowed a free reign over his life he would be happy and content from this moment on until he was unable. As it was, over the last few days his sense of gratitude was being slowly eroded. He knew a storm was coming, he just di
dn’t know exactly how to protect himself against it; but until then, life continued.

  Spokes waited for his girlfriend to return from the WC and then made his way out of the VIP Room for a quick change of setting, leaving her comfortably waiting for him. He made his way through the dance floor, appreciating the music and the young nubile bodies swaying to the sounds. Smiling with some who obviously appreciated his style, he then just stood and watched. He was beside a young man at the VIP entrance who was rocking some urban flava and almost coated in young women. The bouncers watched him nervously making sure he was not at risk but Spokes thought it should be the other way around. Those poor young girls needed protection much more than he did. His ring told him so.

  Grinning with the thought another more urgent jolt of awareness from his ring superseded everything else that was on his mind. His attention shifted from the svelte bodies at the VIP entrance to one, two, three women deftly making their way through the party goers to where he was. Somehow his perception had picked them out, highlighted them and reduced everything else into obscurity. His ring responded to them like nothing else he had ever experienced. The vibration was almost bone deep, a pleasant resonance that colored his vision mauve and filled his mouth with the taste of sweet almonds. In a six sense snapshot he felt a strength and righteousness they possessed, an unnerving experience that took his breath away for a moment - beautiful women needing to get somewhere in a hurry. Spokes stood his ground buffeted by people moving around him and watched spellbound.

  These young women were going to be the answer to his problems he just knew it. They were coming his way so he would let them come, finish his drink and introduce himself.

  The force was strong in dem.

  He grinned.

  The ring tingled again and this time his perceptions darkened as someone or something else entered the theatre of his preternatural awareness - a familiar warning he knew that meant retreat. He did not see the two men heading his way with guns drawn. Did not know that their intentions were to murder him and take the ring. The only thing Spokes knew was that he had to follow the rings urging without further speculation or question, and so he turned and re-entered the VIP lounge as quickly as he could.

  Y slid in between an opening of bodies, ignoring the protests twittering from the groupies annoyed someone else was even more loose and obnoxious than they were – and planted a kiss firmly on Grudge’s lips that carried the momentum of her advances sending them both into the Cristal Lounge and stumbling to the ground. Moments later the gun men had rounded the obstruction with weapons drawn and no target in sight only hysterical squeals from some fracas ahead of them. Their target was gone and instead there was a sea of disgruntled estrogen and raised voices in his place.

  The bouncer’s eyes left the irate group of women on the ground for a moment inadvertently settling on the men tucking the guns back into their jackets as they approached, the slinky flaps of designer jackets falling back into body hugging place. The bouncer whose highly developed sense of self preservation told him it was better to be judged by the twelve than carried by the six, slipped away from a possible blood bath, his duties forgotten.

  That’s when the script was rewritten.

  Patra and Suzy brazenly walked in front of the men as they attempted to enter the VIP lounge.

  The assassins’ instead of being angry were amused. Grins gurgled up from somewhere in their bellies like aberrant belches as they looked at each other with restrained amusement.

  They tried to push by but the girls shrugged them off bracing them back with sheer strength.

  Real professionals underestimated no one. Gun out, double tap to the head and disappear in the confusion. Instead they hesitated, assessing the determined women blocking their way with amusement first then regret.

  How hard could that be?

  Real hard motherfucker, Patra would say, if asked. Real hard.

  Patience went through the window as the men attacked in a quick flurry of fists but when the smoke cleared Patra and Suzy stood looking at them, bored and unimpressed.

  This time they reached for their weapons.

  The dude sporting the cane row was a fraction slower than his colleague as his hands snaked for his gun. Suzy didn’t hesitate. With a blur of movement she was up in his face, striking the bundle of nerve endings in his wrist, making his fingers involuntarily spring open and the gun clatter to the ground as if he had butter fingers. Cane Row howled and swung windmill-like with the back of his hands, trying to catch her off guard but Suzy ducked under it and deftly swayed left. She fired her elbow into his thorax; her dance had left her facing him and her fists stabbed into his thigh and knees like stilettos.

  He buckled.

  She gave him her back.

  And like a final ‘fuck you’ statement she had forgotten to deliver, Suzy executed an overhead kick of balletic exquisiteness, snapping her Jimmy Choo’s and dropping cane row guy on his ass.

  About the same time Patra had already tucked into her Muay Thai stance, her five foot nine frame weaving, her shoulders together, hunched and fists up, releasing the right hook like it had been spat from the barrel of a shotgun. The other gun-man was in a conundrum. Block her strike or go for his gun no matter what. He voted to parry the punch.

  Damn, he nearly lost balance from the force of the blow. He regained his footing, frantically reaching for the gun this time but was unable to gain his bearings or his aim. He fired and the explosion was deafening in the confined space but for all its dramatic effect it went wide lodging into the ceiling.

  “You shooting at me motherfucker?” Patra growled and pile drove her foot into his chest, lifting him off his feet, separating him from his gun and sending him tumbling backwards in a flurry of arms and legs like he had been hit by a typhoon. Both men, in separate oases of pain struggled to compose themselves, looking like dejected boxers who just had their asses handed to them, in an unceremonious fashion in the ring.

  By this Patra and Suzy had acquired their guns and pointed the business ends at them with a sort of grim resolve the men did not want to test.

  “Stay on your knees boys, I’m out of practice. I don’t want my gun go off accidental like,” Patra said menacingly then broke into a smile. “Man that felt gooood!”

  “This is nuh skin teeth business Cleo. Dem bwoy yah came to murder.”

  Patra pushed on the temple of one of the men on his knees with the gun.

  “You came to murder biaatch?”

  The man said nothing.

  Patra grinned again, looking at Suzy.

  “I know, I know, but come on you know what I’m saying.”

  Suzy grinned as Patra went on.

  “They quiet though. Not big on talking.”

  “You just beat the shit out of two two professionals gal, what do you want dem to seh.”

  “How about something like,‘I’ve had some ass kicking in my time ladies but that was the best whooping I did ever get. Thank you, thank you’.” Patra laughed and Suzy rolled her eyes.

  “Where’s Y at anyway?”

  “She is in deh VIP room. She look cool.”

  Patra looked at Suzy with an appraising eye and lowered her voice.

  “Hey sugahh, you ever use a gun before?” Patra asked.

  “No.” Suzy said.

  “I thought all you Jamaican bitches, knew how to bust gun,” she teased.

  Suzy shook her head disparagingly, her hackles rose at any derogatory mention of her beloved island.

  “Don’t get me twisted.” Patra said by way of redress for her first comment. “You got the stance right girl, legs apart an’ all but in the excitement you flipped the safety on. If you gonna bust a cap in a punk ass, you need it off.”

  “Dat cool,” Suzy said and flicked it off with her thumb like a seasoned pro. “Better.”

  “Better.” Patra nodded.

  By this time the girls had been surrounded by an ever-growing swarm of gawking revelers. You could see the nervous s
miles of uncertainty as the reality, or lack of it, was taking effect. Bouncers started appearing bemused with what they were witnessing, wondering why they had not been informed about this stunt. However, the closer they came to this surreal scenario, the more they became convinced they were witnessing something real.

  Y breezed into the frenzy just as the security supervisor turned up and as succinctly as possible glossed over the parts they would not accept as truth and fabricated the rest.

  Y didn’t start trembling until sometime after.

  The girls sat together on one of the circular VIP seats and stared absently out to the deserted entrance of the nightclub. The debris of a night well and truly partied was strewn on the floor and tables. Out of the ordinary were the police officers milling around the floor plan, a few witnesses being questioned by plain clothed officers and forensic personnel in their white booties carrying equipment cases. Suzy looked calm, Patra was more on edge from the grilling by a Detective Jenkins who - if they didn’t know any better – was insinuating they were more than reacting to a bad situation but were somehow involved in the situation. Y was more focused; she sat with her arms around Suzy recording everything said to them by the overzealous DI just in case it was needed in the future and was milling over his words in the confines of her head.

  That freeze frame was held for a moment and through the haze of their own thoughts, the fine figure of DI Winston Shaft McFarlane stepped into the crime scene, surveying the proceedings with enough self assured swagger as if he owned the place. Shoulders raised in recognition, frowns disappeared and finally smiles imprinted on lips as the sisters waved at him and he jogged over to them.

  Shaft wasn’t superstitious by any accounts, not after achieving a Master of Science in Cultural Anthropology; because that would go against everything he understood about the scientific process. Take his final paper on Jung’s Archetype’s and how it related to belief. That was like a guiding doctrine to how he managed the cases that came across his desk initially. But Shaft wasn’t ashamed to admit Black Book had immersed him in many investigative situations that had made him momentarily question some of his long standing beliefs about fate, destiny and what was possible.