Caribbean Rage

by Clington Quamie

  Baptist began groping in the darkness. His hands were stopped short by branches. He was sitting upright in a nest of coconuts with his feet suspending freely in open air. He eased himself upwards and straightaway caught a glimpse of the obscured ocean.

  Something was desperately wrong. A vicious roar that sounded like the raging sea during a hurricane became audible and it was approaching fast. Baptist refocused.

  A tall mountain of sea water could be spotted from a distance. It was racing ashore at an abnormal velocity. He hoisted himself upwards, kicking a few coconuts off their bunch. He was extremely thankful for his height. A millimeter shorter and there was no way he would have reached the edge of the cliff before the monstrous wave made landfall.

  Forty ……………

  Lance Cruisner torpedoed his way up High Street. He’d never run so hard in forty years. St. John’s was under attack by water. A sea of debris carrying boats, trees, broken buildings and cars rushed inland. A catastrophic Tsunami was ripping through the heart of the city at a most unpredictable time of night. More athletic men than himself, propelled ahead of him. The building where his meeting was hosted before the menacing earthquake was totally water ridden. Lance worry equaled his adrenaline rush. He had an assortment of businesses on the beach front. By now, they were all swept away.

  In his haste to escape the calamity, he observed looters ravaging through city stores. They didn’t seem fearful for their lives. A scar faced prisoner he recognized, headed in the opposite direction towards the incoming water. An entourage of prison escapees trailed him. Lance slowed. He and the scar faced prisoner had unsettled business that by no means had a chance of being repaired during such disastrous conditions.

  One of his businesses involved a chamber of lawyers. His law firm had represented the scar faced criminal and had minimized his jail time considerably but had never been fairly compensated.

  Lance reached the towering government building just as the guards were shutting the heavy metal door. Anyone but government officials was denied entry. In their circle, Lance was distinguished. The guards recognized him and permitted his entry before shutting the door inwards.

  Lance bent over the railing of a spiraling stairs to catch his breath. The entire city blacked out. He turned on the flashlight on his phone and started upwards.

  Government officials and other prominent businessmen flooded the uppermost floor of the building. It came as no surprised to him. After all, it was the tallest and most secured building in the city.

  The single light he held pierced through the partially dark room. It diverted all attention towards him. His arrival surprised none of the other men. He was one of them. They returned their focus towards the large glass window that offered a clear view of outside.

  Lance switched off the flashlight. A hazy glare from the sky filled the room. He started slowly towards the thick glass window. The shadowy faces in the room were more grievous than the darkness. Lance’s was no different. He reached the window and peered down at the destruction caused by the misfortune that had befallen the city.

  St. John’s city was never going to be the same again. He imagined his agglomeration of businesses being swept away by the mammoth tidal wave. An unnatural calm came over him. He’d never felt so humble. He was happy to be alive. Lance looked at the sad faces around him. They were faces he wined and dined with. Politicians and wealthy businessmen; not much of a difference between them he thought.

  It would be the last time he would see some of their faces. The dynamics was going to shift after the disaster. Lance had lost a significant portion of his affluence and life for him was never going to be the same again.

  Forty One ……………

  Asudden loud metallic banging jolted Kaila out of her unconscious state. She tried sitting upright but couldn’t. Another deafening bang sent her heart straight into her mouth and back. She tried to familiarize herself with her surroundings but nothing made sense. A third bang and Marielli sprung back into life. She immediately resumed her screaming. A forth bang and Kaila finally got it; she was sitting upside down in her jeep.

  She could hear nearby voices. They were strained. A loud creak followed another thunderous bang then one of the doors went flying into the surrounding wreckage.

  ‘Hey you in there…can you hear me?’ a commanding female voice found its way into the overturned Jeep.

  Kaila’s dread turned into excitement. She was being rescued.

  ‘Yes yes yes…we’re in there!’ her voice was drowned by her daughter’s unrelenting wail.

  Marielli’s scream was enough a signal for the rescuers.

  ‘Get them out of there!’ the female voice gave an order and immediately two male figures were on the move.

  ‘Give me your hand!’ one of them shouted. Moments later, Kaila and her frightened daughter were pulled out of the rubbles.

  A contingent of police officers led by a slender female greeted them. Neither Kaila nor Marielli was hurt. Never in their lives had they been this happy to be alive.

  Forty Two ……………

  When Baptist was younger, he’d openly expressed his skepticism about the myth surrounding cats having nine lives. In his desperation, he began to embrace the validity of the myth. In just 48 hours, he’d cheated death at least four times. The solid bench at the top of the hill where he sat offered little comfort. At least it was safely away from the area that was devastated by the tsunami. The peak of the hill offered him a conspicuous view of different points on the island. The island was lucky to have been ravaged mostly on its periphery but it was going to take millions of dollars to reinstate the affected villages.

  Baptist suddenly remembered the two million dollars he was after. Ten hours earlier, the thought would have been met with a thrill but his fatigue took away every bit of excitement that was left. Baptist spent his entire night carefully plodding through the tsunami ridden villages.

  His assailant could be either dead or lurking somewhere in Tsunamiland. The indefatigable journey had lasted till daylight and landed him on a rock-hard bench that could certainly substitute for a bed for the next few hours. He felt hopeless. In his estimation, the chance of Shakira being alive was slim. Koconut Breeze was situated on the beach and it would have been the first building to be sucked by the mammoth wave.

  Baptist curled himself on the hillside bench and placed both his hands comfortably under one side of his face. His mind began to shut down. Sleep was creeping up on him quickly. A disgusting ray of sunlight forced its way through one of his eyelids. Baptist reflexively opened up his eyes and sat upright. He was about to lie on the opposite end of the bench when from a visible distance downhill, he noticed two people approaching. They took a detour into a private road just as he lifted his head to get a better view. They didn’t seem to notice him. Not in a million years Baptist was prepared to accept as true it was Shakira escorting a strange man down the hill.

  His curiosity jolted him out of tiredness and sent him scrambling down the hill. Baptist took a sharp left into the private road. He was just in time to see them making another right turn. He sped up his paces but stuck close to the bushes. Baptist trailed them by a good distance for a never-ending spell until they took another left that brought them to a halt in front of a wide iron gate. The gate remained opened after they entered making access much easier for him.

  A rusticated looking mansion came into full view. From the trailing distance Baptist kept, there was no doubt in his mind that the woman ahead was Shakira. A mixture of jealousy and rage filled him. The property where they entered offered a perfect hideaway. Baptist inched closer to them still keeping low behind the properly landscaped hedge. The man dropped a small object and spun around immediately to pick it up. Baptist dodged and remained calm with his eyes still in the man’s direction. From the awkward position behind the hedge where he crouched, he could have sworn the man’s eyes locked with his. The man got to his feet and started towards Shakira. After a few short footsteps
, he stopped, spun around then began walking towards Baptist. Baptist held his breath.

  The strange man walked passed him until he got to the gate. He shut it inwards then punched a combination on an alarm device that was attached to the gate’s wall. On his way back towards the building, he stopped directly over Baptist’s hiding spot then signaled Shakira to carry along into the building. He inched closer to the end of the hedge until there was a thin separation from his boots to Baptist’s hand. Baptist heart stopped.

  The man loosened his zipper and reached inside for his manhood. He leveled it over the portion of shrubs where Baptist hid. Baptist remained unmoved. The man let off a grunt of relief as he sprayed warm urine over the hedge. Most of his urine sprinkled Baptist hand. A few moments later he disappeared up the slope that led to the building. Baptist wiped the disgusting substance off his hand. It had a pungent stench of penicillin and it wasn’t going to be removed easily.

  Baptist got to his feet and was immediately on the move. He reached the top of the slope that exposed an entrance into the Building. The front door hung loosely ajar.

  Today seems to be my lucky day. Baptist eased himself inside. The historic mansion’s majestic interior reminded Baptist of the famous saying; never judge a book by its cover. Whosoever this strange man was; he had got to have serious wealth to his name.

  The thought of Shakira being swept off her feet by the stranger sent a piercing pain through Baptist heart. The man was without a doubt more handsome than him. He was wealthier and from what Baptist witnessed, though smaller in physique, the man was definitely more hung than him. Baptist heard voices coming from an upper section of the mansion. He followed the voices up a spiraling staircase that landed him in a corridor branching out into multiple rooms. The voices became more audible.

  ‘They’re dead.’ a female voice was in control. More than two voices filled the room. Baptist continued forward.

  ‘What about that junky who got killed?’ a male voice took over. Baptist heart started to race as he neared the door. The dialogue in room surrounded the latest series of murders involving his brother. Baptist couldn’t fathom Shakira’s involvement. He cautiously opened up the door and eased himself inside only to be met by another tinted glass door. Shakira was in the company of four men.

  ‘I found the two million,’ Shakira continued, ‘it was in my ex-boyfriend’s possession but he too got killed.’ She emptied a green sac of neatly bundled notes on the floor. Baptist jaw dropped. He clenched his fist tightly.

  I knew there was something wrong about that Bitch!!!

  ‘What about the treasure map?’ the well-hung man probed further.

  Baptist eyes widened.

  One of his feet involuntarily knocked the door. Shakira produced a pistol with lightning speed and aimed in his direction. There was an uncanny savagery in her eyes as she leapt towards the door.

  Forty Three ……………

  S54B3 tightened her grip on the weapon and charged towards the tinted glass door.

  The door swung open as she was about to fire a shot. A large figure threw his hands upwards in a surrendering gesture. It was the perfect time to bid Shakira goodbye.

  She went by the name Shakira Brittany and was coded S54B3 when she joined the criminal organization. Her real name was Ginette Lemar and she was Canadian.

  Ginette, the second of her parent’s daughters was only ten years old when her family had joined the Brittany family for thanksgiving dinner. On that blissful night, the most unexpected monstrosity had befallen them. They were wrapped in ecstasy when four gunmen stormed into the house demanding money and jewelry.

  The husbands were first shot in cold blood. Their wives pleaded out of fear for their children but were also put to death. Ginette’s best friend, Shakira and her older sister, Diana were brutally raped and when they’d mustered some resistance, they were also executed. At such tender age, Ginette had witnessed the gross violence that was exercised on both families. She was the only person left standing and when she thought it was all over, the bandits had stripped her naked and forced half a bottle of Jack Daniels down her throat.

  When the drink took full effect, they filled every possible entrance into her body with their filthy manly organs. It was through some divine intervention that the outlaw who had inflicted most pain upon her stopped his fellow criminal from ending her life.

  ‘ Leave her to the spoils,’ he’d spat on her naked body, ‘she’s ruined for life!!!’ Ginette was left feeling cheap, dirty and worthless. She was discovered in a bloody state and was immediately taken to a psychiatric hospital where it took her another six months to speak again. Upon her release, she went to live with her uncle in New York to help bury the gruesome memories once and for all.

  Within a year, Ginette’s French inflection was eradicated completely. She became a Newyorker. Everything seemed fine with her knew family and just when she thought her dignity was properly restored, her world came crashing down again; her ugly past revisited her.

  Ginette’s uncle sneaked into her bedroom one night and forcefully penetrated her. He then threatened to kick her out of the house if she’d tell anyone. He also reassured her that no one would believe her given his respected position as a lawyer and furthermore, he would make it a point of duty to ensure she never got a job in New York.

  Ginette had no one else in New York to fend for her. She was left helpless and with little choice. She’s ruined for life!!! Her assailant’s words would often re-echo every time her uncle barged into her bedroom to molest her.

  She stopped resisting him. The feeling of worthlessness came back again and stuck with her. She began to forego school favoring the comfort of multiple sexual partners. Ginette eventually dropped out of School at age fifteen.

  The way of the streets became her life. Her self-esteem plummeted. She began spreading her legs for anything that walked so long money talked.

  Ginette breakthrough came one year later at Eldorado where she worked as a prostitute. One of her clients had paid her some extra dough to spend the night with him away from her usual room where countless men visited her. The next morning, she’d overheard an early visitor giving her client a stern admonition.

  ‘I’ve already warned you about bringing whores into my apartment! Haven’t I?’ the voice that filled the apartment was powerful.

  ‘I’m sorry sir.’ her client sounded timid. His voice was nothing compared to the boastful audacity he confronted her with the night before.

  ‘Sorry my ass!!! We need to protect my name and the

  image of my business; do you understand that?’ the man was neither tamed nor controlled. ‘Tell that prostitute to get out of my house!’ there was a short pause between them. ‘In fact, I’m going to tell her myself!’ Footstep began approaching rapidly.

  Ginette began dressing hurriedly. The man’s words were as sharp as a double edged sword and they brought her instant pain. The intruder bolted into the bedroom and for the first time in a very long time she began to feel a degree of shame. Tears tumbled down her cheek and onto her half naked body. Ginette didn’t want to see the face of the intruder who stood in the doorway. She just waited for the barrage of hurtful words that was about to be rained on her. A long silence hung between them then as if calmed by her vulnerability, he sat beside her on the ruffled bed.

  ‘What’s your name, sweetie?’ he went from being a demon to an angel.

  It was at that point of Ginette’s life she decided to steal her best friend’s identity.

  ‘Shakira Brittany.’ she answered and for the first time looked the man in his eyes. She was met with a pleasant surprise. He was middle aged, handsome and carried the appearance of a metrosexual. A reassuring fragrance of cigar mixed with some powerful cologne filled her nostrils as he sat next to her.

  ‘You are such a beautiful woman; why are you doing this to yourself?’ he expressed genuine concern more out of pity than admiration. The man’s piteous comportment caused Shakira to cry more profus
ely. That morning, she told the stranger everything that had happened to her from childhood. When she was finished, the man seemed deeply troubled by her story.

  ‘You feel trapped; don’t you?’ he was spot on. Shakira felt like the man understood her.

  ‘I can show you a way out of your situation but under one condition.’ his warm smile offered comfort but a dangerous seriousness hung over his words.

  ‘What is the condition?’ Shakira was eager.

  ‘Work for me!’ the man promised Shakira that his line of work was nothing compared to what she imagined and promised that her life would be transformed the moment she accepted his offer. He also warned that the revelation of the nature of his work would leave her no choice but to work for him. Secrecy among other things was top of the line. Shakira accept before knowing what she was getting into. She was tired of being stuffed by different men as way of life and she desperately needed a change. The man asked her to get dress and to have breakfast with him. They ate in complete silence at an expensive restaurant downtown Manhattan. When they exited the restaurant, the owner as well as the security officers seemed more interested in greeting the man than demanding money for the meal he and the young Blondie had eaten.

  The man drove to Long Island where they later entered a spacious apartment. The apartment was furnished but unattended. It took the man only a minute’s explanation for Shakira to figure out she was sitting face to face with Mr. Erik Barfknecht; New York’s most notorious drug lord. She had heard so many mysterious stories about him and here she was being initiated into his criminal organization in the most unexpected manner. Erik pulled out a bunch of keys from his pocket.

  ‘Here…make a home outta this place.’ he handed Shakira the keys. Her tears resurfaced.