Bad II the Bone

by Anton Marks

  How Spokes knew his way around the mystical landscape was a mystery.

  But he was no Voudon that he knew.

  He dusted the ashes of his cigar into a copper dish balanced on the arms of the Merlin chair and smiled fleetingly.

  What was his once, would be his again.

  The precious drops of distilled demon weed fell into the ceramic beaker and as he procured the required quantity, he too condensed an idea to spill blood, a lot more blood.

  “Every knee shall bow ………….”

  Red Ground Estates

  Surrey

  02.30

  The girls sat on the large bed in one of Spokes’ many spare rooms, but this one, large enough to hold two double beds comfortably, acted as a command centre. Y was applying nail polish to Suzy’s toes and Patra had her chin propped up in her hands watching the flat screen television. Surrounding them were ten monitors with CCTV camera feeds that were situated at the many vantage points around the mansion, sitting on tables that they checked regularly and backed up with a five man unit who were also securing the grounds. They were in constant communication with the roving security teams via VHS radio that they carried everywhere. That fact alone made the radios candidate to be accessorized. When Patra had finished with them they were bedecked in diamantes, lanyards representing Jamaica, UK and the USA and blinking LED’s on the tips of the antennae. Sufficiently pimped they were slung around necks or hips. On the girl’s recommendation – Y had Googled perimeter security - Spokes had wired the estate with state of the art motion and pressure detectors on her inexperienced recommendation but in his eyes it had been given by a security professional with an unblemished track record of countless years. Now getting into the estate without being detected required a full tactical assault team and resources that Deacon could not marshal in a million years. So the flesh and blood intruders were dealt with.

  Check.

  The other types would not be so easily deterred and that concerned Suzy.

  How could you grow up in Jamaica and not have an affinity for the supernatural? Rich or poor, sufferah or risto, out of many one people as the country’s motto proclaimed and you at least appreciated the unseen powers that condemned many an unsuspecting Yardie. Christianity had tried it damndest to convince its mainly African descendents since the fifteenth century that power resided in heaven and with one God. Forced indoctrination could not wipe what had been written on the collective consciousness of generations of Africans and the Holy Spirit had to coexist with the spirits of the mother-land. Not all the ancient traditions where of a benevolent nature though and where there were Pocomania meetings celebrating life, there was black magic seeking to destroy it.

  Suzy knew there were few children who had not been scared by the twilight stories of the Darkman in the same breath as the Three Foot Horse, Rolling Calf and Coolie Duppy. He was an urban legend back-a-yard. The bogeyman she was referring to was known even by her grandmother who used the stories as a threat to wayward children scaring them onto the straight and narrow.

  Believing he was real was straining on the elastic of her convictions. But Suzy had witnessed his power and his demonic connections. She had seen the effect of Darkman, on her waking world and she couldn’t help thinking that they were completely and utterly out of their depth.

  If they were normal people they’d be buckling under the enormity of the revelations but being who they were, the world they thought they understood lay shattered at their feet, and Bad II the Bone simply nudged it under the proverbial bed, to be cogitated on at a more convenient time.

  But in the here and now, Y was pissed. Spokes had misled them. And she would be damned if their services would be prostituted because they were in need. If they were to be fucked, they had to be willing participants in the act. That was the reason why Spokes was walking a worried groove into the floorboards in the study next door preparing for an estrogen fuelled inquisition.

  A meeting he knew would not be pretty.

  The MTV expose of Fifty Cents provided the background sounds of a girl’s night in with a paranormal twist. This scene could have been a Friday night pampering session if not for the threat of death from a sorcerer and demonic entities. But Bad II the Bone had a knack for making the uncanny seem ordinary and watching Y in her crossed legged position on the bed bouncing with the hilarity of it all was not unusual. Suzy looked over to Patra who shrugged her shoulders at the corner of the bed, engrossed in the program on the television and rolled her eyes. The laughter was contagious and in seconds all three were chortling, uncontrollably.

  Between splutters Suzy asked.

  “Will sumbody please tell mi what is suh funny?”

  With aching cheeks Y tried to compose herself. She screwed on the top of the red nail polish and placed it in her utility tray with the cotton balls and the acetone.

  “Life is funny,” she said finally.

  “I wouldn’t go as far as saying that this son-of-a-bitch we call life was funny. Challenging and sometimes a pain in the ass but funny no,” Patra dried her eyes.

  “Not funny ha-ha but funny strange.” Y explained.

  “Strange just doesn’t explain what we’re going through right now. This is some outright bizarre shit.”Patra said.

  “And my is telling me, this is just the beginning.

  “I was afraid of that,” Y said. “Remember how I used to moan about how life was passing us by. I could only look forward to the infrequent scrapes we got ourselves into, our training sessions and partying. It was driving me crazy.”

  “How could I forget your bitchin’? Then the motherfucker Tyrone came into your life.”

  “Our life,” Suzy corrected.

  “Smoothed you the fuck out,” Patra observed.

  “So smooth, all my defenses were down and he ripped us off of everything we had. But look at us now. Excitement, mystery, danger and some money. And I’m beginning to think we’ve bitten off more than we can chew.”

  “No shit.” Patra laughed.

  “Getty, getty nuh want it, wanty, wanty cah get it.” Suzy recited the Jamaican saying stoically.

  “Be careful what you wish for.” Y murmured as if she regretted that dreams did come true after all.

  “Amen.” Patra focused on the television for a moment.

  “You know what I wish for?” She looked at her freshly pedicured feet and wriggled her toes. “I want to live to see next week. But as that is uncertain I’m going to squeeze the good shit out of every moment.”

  The girls went silent with that shared and succinct assessment of their situation; the horror and mystery trickled back into the moment as they stood on the edge of darkness. A cold chill descended.

  Were they trying to protect a man who did not deserve protection?

  The room door pushed open and in swaggered the man with the answers. He slowly closed the door behind him, grabbed a chair, swinging it around and down so he could straddle it like a cowboy.

  “Mek wi reason.” Spokes said

  Spokes stretched out the five fingers of his right hand as if he was testing the strength of his nerves and let the ceiling lights catch the blue jewel being devoured by a dragon that encircled his index finger. The scaly gold skin etched on the rings surface by a master artisan glinted reptilian like and was very old or was made to look so.

  “Is this for real?” Patra asked.

  “I researched it thoroughly. Had it corroborated by an Iraqi professor of antiquity,” Spokes said. “It cost me an arm, an a leg too, the back door business don’t come cheap, mark my words.”

  “Mesopotamian, you said,” Suzy repeated. “Four thousand BC?”

  “Roughly, used by Babylonian priests also to protect the ancient order from back bitters, thieves and murderers who wanted to do them harm. The spell was cast in Sumerian by my pardy. Yuh believe dat, a country bwoy from Mobay, speaking a long dead language and casting spells? The ring is linked to my soul or life force.”

  He lifted his hand
up to the light again and admired it.

  “Enoch collected magical objects with power from all over the world. My guard ring is from his collection and kept mi invisible from his prying eyes all this time. My spar Jimmy, knew the importance of it and made sure in his dying moments that I wore it.” Spokes suddenly said nothing, he swallowed hard, his focus drifted and his eyes glistened. “I found out that he can’t personally come too close to the wearer so that is the only reason why we have not faced him personal like. That alone is saving my life.” He paused. “And you of course.”

  “Why does it feel like we’re being set up? You need protection that only we can offer?” Y asked. “And yet that demon thing disguised as a derelict in the park. It was saying the same thing about us. It was almost scared of the three of us together.”

  “I didn’t intentionally set out to mislead you sista Y, believe mi I had no choice. You are ordained, the Watunza Mwanga – carers of the light - only you can keep me safe. You walk both sides of deh spiritual divide and all deh evil Darkman has pulled forth, knows dis.”

  “Don’t get it twisted OG,” Patra said.“We convinced this shit is real, we just not sure, you for real.”

  Suzy sighed.

  “Deh thing is, you weren’t as open with us from the beginning although your intentions were honourable.”

  “Would you have believed me in deh first place?” Spokes asked. “I had to drip feed you the information.”

  “Ok, we were doubtful but that was your job to convince us.” Y said flatly. “Now we feel like we want to pull out, leave you to handle this … situation yourself.”

  “I wish it was that simple, sista Y.”

  “It looks simple enough from where I’m sitting.”

  Spokes shook his head.

  “The Darkman legacy has survived for a few hundred years on guile and ruthlessness. If I know who you are, he will too. Him a guh put two an’ two together and conclude rightly you are with me. For him to get what he wants, an’ for us to be the wiser for it, a plan had to be put in place.

  “What does he want from you?”

  Spokes smile was a patient one but his eyes shone his determination.

  “His collection. Money and magical booty, he and his family plundered all over the world. My best friend was murdered because of him and I was dragged into dis world wholly unprepared. I should have had nothing to do with dis rass if not for my idrens memory.”

  “Why now?” Suzy asked. “After all dis time. Why him come after yuh now.”

  “Them bind di beast.” Spokes laughed, his booming voice echoing off the high ceilings. “His enemies were smarter than he thought and Darkman was held in the Queens prison, trapped with three life sentences over him head. I became the custodian to his treasures from then on.”

  “The motherfucker broke out of prison, right?” Patra asked.

  “Dem couldn’t hold him forever, that’s why these four years, I was preparing. Making sure I had an exit strategy.”

  “Now he wants his shit back and he thinks you are a part of the problem.”

  “Correct, Miss P. Anyone he feels is responsible for his incarceration is dead meat, me, you, we all included.”

  “Great, so we are a part of this exit strategy?” Patra lamented.

  “It seem suh. The ring found you and the higher powers set the way.”

  “So you have a choice and we don’t.” Y sat up from the bed, her body language combative.

  “If reaching out to help a bredrin, in need was a choice, den maybe. But I feel destiny had already set out the pieces in the cosmic draught game and you ladies are a part of its game plan.”

  “So we are supposed to just go along with all this. Accept higher power, your story while we risk our lives protecting yours.”Y said flatly.

  “Yeah man, that sounds about right. That is why you are, who you are. You have a bigger purpose and I am just a part of it. The higher powers have taken a personal interest in your schooling.” He shrugged. “I’d be flattered.”

  Y kissed her teeth like a seasoned Jamaican.

  Suzy listened but was almost enamored to the ring on Spokes’ finger. She wondered how much of life was preordained, how much knowledge it contained and if it knew what path they should take.

  “Can I touch it?” Suzy asked. “See if I can feel something of what you’re telling us.”

  Spokes looked down at the ring on his thick fingers and then held out his hand like a Cardinal expecting it to be kissed.

  “Do your ting,” he said.

  Suzy reached out and touched it.

  15.

  Clinton Recreational Centre

  Friday, July 19th

  9.30 am

  Her scream echoed off the glass walls, an almost orgasmic release of pleasure as she stretched herself to the limit and realised that wasn’t enough.

  It was the cry of a woman who had made a play that should win her this very competitive set. A cry that relieved the levels of stress she had to maintain that most people would buckle under. And boy, did she need it. The girls were back at the mansion covering Spokes while she was given the opportunity for some much needed R&R.

  The ball exploded off the net of Y’s racket rebounding from the front wall and then losing a fraction of its momentum as it bounced off the side wall on its way to the ground. Grunting Shaft was at full stretch and being tugged by gravity as he glided through the air. The ball bounced once and he caught it in the middle of his racquet, just on the Wilson logo for a return that should have been impossible.

  A frantic sprint on Y’s part couldn’t regain the lost point as the ball bounced three times before she was anywhere near it. To add insult to injury her tired legs finally gave way, throwing her to the floor in a giggling heap. Bursting into full blown laughter, Y sat where she fell and watched Shaft who was on his back all this time shaking his racket over his head in triumph, pumping his arms and legs, giving it his best Des Lynam in commentating mode and providing the crowd-going-crazy sound effects at the same time.

  “They had counted him out, ladies and gentlemen. The boy from the Streatham estates had done the impossible. They thought that he couldn’t beat the world champion, they thought this would be a formality but Winston the Sex Machine McFarlane has done it. The under-dog has done it and the crowd goes wild!”

  “Lucky shot,” Y shouted, her chest still heaving from the exertion.

  “The only lucky thing about this whole game is that I didn’t thrash your little backside three sets to nil.” He jumped to his feet and started to reproduce his match winning play in slow motion.

  Y was shaking her head with a broad grin on her face.

  “First thing is my backside isn’t little, see?” She rubbed her hands over her curves, playing down the mischievous sparkle that had just appeared in Shaft’s eyes.

  “And you’re crazy do you know that?”

  “It takes one to know one.”

  Shaft walked over to her, took Y by the hand and pulled her up.

  “A cold juice to soothe the pains of a loser”

  She nodded.

  “Enjoy it while you can Mr. Sex Machine. Remember we meet again next week Thursday. And I know it will be a different someting then.”

  Shaft gulped audibly and said in his best Clint Eastwood impression.

  “I love it when you talk dirty.”

  Y was still laughing as they left the squash courts hand in hand.

  The refreshment area of the sports club overlooked the Olympic size swimming pool and above that was a massive skylight that made sure it would be bathed in sunlight for the better part of the day if the weather permitted.

  No one else seemed to be taking advantage of its comforts and the bartender had a hungry look in his eye when he saw them walk over. After ordering they had to feign tiredness to get away from him as he unsuccessfully tried to pull them into some long-winded and totally meaningless conversation.

  “Now that is a man who is dying for a listening ear,
” Shaft grinned.

  They came to a cosy table as far away from Desperate Dan the barman as possible. Shaft pulled out a chair for Y then took a seat himself.

  Ceiling fans ran noiselessly and the area was comfortably airy and warm.

  He put his palms flat on the table as if he was going to use it to lift himself into a standing position and said.

  “Have you decided to make a formal charge against your boyfriend yet?”

  The atmosphere between them chilled noticeably.

  Y crossed her legs and looked over his shoulder. Shaft saw her neck muscles tense as she squeezed her hands together under the table.

  “I’d prefer if you didn’t refer to that piece of shit as my boyfriend. It’s bad enough coming to terms with the fact that I actually cared for him once upon a time. I guess that I should want the police to lock him up and throw away the key.”

  “Just for old time’s sake,” Shaft added.

  Y shook her head.

  “The idea that he’s going to be in jail, eating food and learning a trade from my taxes makes me cringe. Let him roam free, we will meet again.”

  Involuntarily he shuddered.

  His mother used to say that to him when he was in line for a good whipping and no matter what his scheming adolescent mind could concoct to evade her, she would catch him sooner or later. Young brash UK cunning was ineffective against an old world Jamaican Machiavellian.

  Spokes lost every time and he felt genuinely sorry for old Tyrone.