by Nick Cannon
“Yeah, right,” I said.
She led me out. I felt Dada’s glare on my neck the whole time I walked. The All Star Blazers followed me out, with Killa Bean exiting last with his machete still in hand. As we got to the stairs, I heard Dada laugh loudly.
“A man almost died tonight!” he yelled. “Let’s celebrate the miracle!”
I kept walking. As I descended the stairs, I locked eyes with Toasta in the deejay booth. The expression on his face told me all I needed to know. He had seen it all. And he was as livid as I was.
I walked outside with Kaydeen.
“I’m sorry about my brother,” she said. “I didn’t expect him to act like that.”
“You don’t have to apologize for Dada,” I said. “He’s a grown man. He does what he wants. But why didn’t you tell me that you’re his sister?”
“Because I didn’t want you to make up your mind about me before you got to know me. That’s why.” She sighed. “Dada is my brother. I love him. But, he and I are not the same. I’m nothing like him.”
I wasn’t sure.
“It’s all good. Now I see why everyone was treating you like the Queen of Jamaica. It’s because you are the Queen of Jamaica. You’re the daughter of a billionaire.”
“What my family has or what they do is not me. That’s one of the reasons I left this place. To get away from all of the things that come along with being a Davidson. When I’m in London or New York, people get to know me for who I really am. I was hoping you could, too.”
“I understand that.” It was true. I knew what it was like to try and escape your former self. To be desperate to shed an old layer of your story that other people won’t let you shake off.
She touched my arm, tenderly, and looked at me. “You need to be careful, Tarzan.”
I frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“My brother is crazy.”
I laughed. Again, she didn’t.
“I’m serious. It’s not a game. This is only the beginning. Trust me. He’s going to try and ruin you.”
I shrugged my shoulders. It wasn’t that I was fearless. I had enough sense to know when I was outmatched. But, Dada was the victim of too many yes-men. People had bowed to him for so long that now he believed his own hype. I saw through all the smoke and mirrors. To me, it was clear the dude was a fraud.
“He can’t ruin me.”
She sucked her teeth and looked away. She shook her head in frustration, and looked at me again. “See, Tarzan? That’s the attitude that’s going to get you killed.”
I felt an eerie shiver when she said that. I shrugged it off. I’d been drinking a lot tonight. “If that’s what you think.”
She didn’t relent. “What if I’m not there to stop him next time?”
I turned to face her, desperate for her to understand what I was saying. I locked eyes with her and spoke slowly. “I’m not scared of your punk ass brother. I don’t need nobody to step in for me. You don’t know me, sweetheart.”
“That’s not what I meant. You don’t have to be scared. To keep it real, I like the fact that you’re not scared of him.”
I relaxed a little.
“I’m just saying. If you test him, Donovan will try and kill you. I’m not trying to scare you. I’m just telling you what I know.”
I shrugged again, and walked off toward my motorcycle. As far as I was concerned, the conversation was over. But, for some reason, Kaydeen followed me.
“Good night,” I called over my shoulder. “It was nice meeting you.”
I hopped on my bike.
“Just, please, be careful.” Her voice was pleading.
“Good night.”
I revved the engine and took off for home. I’d had enough of The Jungle for one night.
DOUBLE CROSSED
I rode my bike through the island’s hills and vegetation. It would have been a gorgeous and picturesque scene if I wasn’t preoccupied by the things I had on my mind. I was stressed about Maya storming out the way she had. I was still upset she had slapped me. My pride was wounded, especially because she had done it in front of so many people. But, to top it off, I was tripping out over the fact that Kaydeen—the stunning beauty who was hypnotizing and sultry—was the sister of a man I hated.
I knew Dada’s type. Men who used their wealth and privilege to their advantage, stepping all over the ones beneath them. I’d seen the way he hustled Raddy Rich into being part of his crew. He was a bully, taking advantage of those less powerful than he was. No matter how high he turned up the heat, I wasn’t going to let him see me sweat. I was sure that if I played my position the right way, I could take over and expose this pussy Dada as the coward I knew he was.
I pulled up at Peta Gaye and Toasta’s place. I knew that Toasta was still back at The Jungle. But, I thought Maya might have gone there after the way she stormed out of the club.
I walked up to the door and knocked.
Peta Gaye answered the door in her night robe, half-awake.
“Peta Gaye, sorry to wake you.” I realized I was developing a bit of a Jamaican accent after being there for so long. “Is Maya here?”
“No, Tarzan.”
“Are you sure?” I peeked around her, hoping to catch a glimpse of Maya behind her.
“Yes. I’m sure. Unlike you, she’s probably being thoughtful. Considerate. She probably nah wan’ wake up the pickney. So she went to mi father’s house to sleep.”
I nodded. “Okay. I’m really sorry. When you do see her, please just have her call me immediately.”
She nodded. “I’ll do mi best, Tarzan.” She narrowed her eyes. “So. Where’s ya ras clot cousin?”
Ras clot was such a vulgar term that I winced when she said it. “Still at The Jungle,” I said. I was so sorry I came here.
“The Jungle, eh? Well him a coo-coo bird so him stay there!”
I shook my head, apologized again, and started walking back toward my motorcycle.
“Tell him spend di night at home for once! Like a real husband and father! Mi sick up to here with dis dancehall fuckery!”
She slammed the door shut and I took off on my mo-torcycle. I pulled up at the bishop’s house moments later.
I knew, as I approached the house, that I was bugging. It was late—well after midnight—and I was walking up to her father’s home. This was a man who had already expressed his disapproval of me. But, tonight, I was desperate. I needed to see my baby.
I tapped softly on the window.
I called out her name in an anxious whisper. “Maya! Aye, Maya!”
I tapped on the window again, this time a little harder.
“Maya! I know you’re in there. I just want to talk to you.”
Suddenly, the lights in the front room came on. I could see a silhouette moving through the room toward the window. The person opened it up.
It was the bishop.
“Apparently, mi daughter nah wan’ speak to you, Tarzan.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Indeed. You are sorry. What kind of man harasses a young lady in di middle of the night?”
“Bishop, I was just—”
“Heathen! Get away! Mi rebuke you.”
I was trying not to laugh. At the same time, I was aware that he was insulting me.
“I really just need to talk to her for a second, Mr. Fenster.”
“She nah wan’ talk! Leave now!” He pointed a trembling finger toward the road.
I stood there for a second too long.
“Demon! Go!”
That was going too far.
“Mr. Fenster—”
“Leave!”
I turned around before I got disrespectful with Maya’s father. I walked toward my bike, and as I walked I could hear him yelling inside his house.
“See, Maya? Dis why mi tell you to stay away from dat dancehall! It’s nah place for a bishop’s daughter. Dat boy is a sinner and him a no-good Yankee man! You wan’ end up like ya sister? Five kids and nah pot fi
piss in?”
Clearly, he was vexed and I had only made things worse for Maya. Probably for poor Peta Gaye and Toasta, too. I decided to just go home and call it a night. As well as things had gone for the All Star Blazers, everything else had crashed and burned.
I sped off and got on the highway, steering my bike in the direction of my villa. It was a familiar route I had taken many times before. But, tonight something felt off. In fact, there had been an eerie sense of doom all night long. I couldn’t put my finger on it, until I saw the flashing lights of police cars closing in behind me. This was my worst nightmare.
I glanced around and saw that they had me surrounded. I pulled over. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did just that. I had pissed Maya off, almost gotten shot, and now I was hemmed up on the side of a Kingston road with the shady Jamaican police.
This all seemed a little too coincidental. Kaydeen’s warnings from earlier in the evening echoed in my ears now. Maya, too, had urged me not to cross Dada. I could almost hear the sound of his arrogant laughter in my ears now as they placed handcuffs on me without ever bothering to tell me what I was being charged with.
They put me in the back of one of their most raggedy police cars, and drove me to jail. They booked me, and tossed me in a stone-walled hole that reeked of piss. I stood completely nude as the officer searched me for the umpteenth time. They wouldn’t tell me what they were looking for. When he was done, he made me stand in the corner, still naked, while they rummaged through my clothes. This was all just an attempt to humiliate me. I held my head high, and didn’t protest. The last thing I wanted was to make more enemies in this town than I already had.
They finally found a knife in the waistband of my jeans. They found some weed in my shoe and a bunch of cash in my pockets. That was it. But, that was enough. They locked me up with no judge, no jury, nothing. Just the awful sound of the metal bars clanging shut and the menacing, ceaseless pressure of my own thoughts.
* * *
By the time the sun came up, I learned that the police had ransacked my villa. They found even more cash, two more guns, and a ton of weed, and destroyed everything I had. At least that was what they told me. I had no way of knowing what was really going on. I was at the mercy of a few guards who were kind enough to feed me updates like a dog waiting beneath the dinner table for falling crumbs. I snatched up each nugget of information hungrily. I was anxious about how my family and friends were doing in the midst of Dada’s ruthless quest for vengeance.
I was aware that I had fucked up. I was locked up in a foreign country with some powerful adversaries. I wouldn’t admit to myself that I was scared. But, I knew that the situation I was facing was serious.
Everything they found could keep me in prison here for a very long time. For as long as they liked, really. The government here was corrupt. Surely, there were officials in Dada’s pocket. People who could see to it that I was locked away for years. Already I could tell that this system was completely different from the one I had sadly become accustomed to in America. I didn’t get a lawyer. No phone call. Nothing. This was not the due process I was used to. Here, the police didn’t play. I was thrown in a cell to rot. Kaydeen had warned me that this was only the beginning. Now, I knew that she’d meant what she said. Dada had it out for me and my whole squad.
Days passed, and I learned from the officers assigned to guard me that they had raided Toasta’s house. The news hit me hard. I thought about my cousin, about Peta Gaye and the children, and I felt terrible. I had come into their lives and brought so much destruction and chaos. One of the guards told me that the police had torched Toasta’s brand-new BMW. I knew that alone had broken my cousin’s heart. He loved that car so much. To him, it was more than just a vehicle. That car represented all the hard work he’d put in for years in pursuit of his goals. Upgrading from the trash box he’d picked me up in at the Kingston airport to the shiny new ride he’d purchased recently was a huge accomplishment in Toasta’s life. Having it destroyed was just another cruel joke, courtesy of Dada’s twisted, evil mind.
That wasn’t all. The same guard told me about what happened to my friend. Killa had caught the worst of Dada’s wrath.
I knew when Killa pulled out his machete in The Jungle that Dada would never let that slide. Something in the way he had looked at Killa Bean made it clear that this was not the end. I was right. The guard informed me that Dada’s goons had caught Killa Bean slipping. After a night at The Jungle, Killa had been heading to his car. Kutan was there, and he ordered his men to pin Killa down in the middle of the street. While Killa fought with all his might, Kutan had taken his machete and carved the word “Dada” into Killa’s chest, branding him for life. Then he sliced my boy across his face for good measure, scarring him even further. The word on the street was that Killa Bean’s blood had stained the streets of Kingston for days afterward. I was physically sick when I got the news. I felt powerless.
I was devastated. Then I found out that Farmer was locked up, too. The police rode up to the mountainside, and found him in his lair, surrounded by marijuana plants. They led him to the car, still smoking his blunt. The police who escorted him even respected Farmer. He was the man. A legend in these parts. Dada was playing dirty. Farmer had been in business for a long time. He wasn’t bothering anyone. For decades, he had existed on the mountainside of Jamaica, growing his ganja and selling to local hustlers. The problem was that he had been supplying me. He had dared to distribute to the one man Dada wanted gone by any means. I had a bull’s-eye on my back, and everyone around me was going down in flames.
Then came the day when I learned that Uncle Screechie’s restaurant had been raided. The police had come in using unnecessary force, busted up the place, scared off all the patrons, and punched Uncle Screechie in the gut for good measure. They found no guns or drugs, but helped themselves to carloads of food they stole just to rub salt in our wounds.
I wasn’t having a picnic, either. Every day, the guards pulled me out of my cell and beat me. Sometimes until I was unconscious. When I wasn’t getting my ass beat by the cops, the other prisoners ganged up on me. There was no law and order in here. I was in a place where the inmates ran the jail and the guards looked the other way. My days were spent fighting for my life, and wishing I could get a do-over for some of the things I’d said and done.
This was all too familiar. I had promised myself that I would never be in this type of situation again. My life was beginning to feel like it was going in cycles. Sometimes up. Most times down. I was in a repetitive spiral of negative bullshit. Again, I was forced to face the enemy within me. My pride. It drove me to do things I regretted later. I’d allowed my pride to run me out of Brooklyn. Now, here I was in Kingston, locked up again. I was sick of myself. Alone in my cell, for the first time in years, I cried.
I could hear my mama’s voice in my ears. She always told me that if you hit the bottom, you’re in the perfect position for prayer. So, I closed my eyes, got on my knees on the filthy stone floor of my jail cell, and prayed.
Lord, if You’re real, show me. Show up for me now. I need You. I never tried this before. Praying ain’t something I do. So, I’m asking You to forgive me for my sins. Mama said that You know my heart. So You know that I’m a good man. I have good intentions at least. I just want to take care of my family. I just want to provide for everyone that I love. And sometimes I go about it the wrong way. Please change the way that I think. Help me fix the way that I react to certain situations. Change me. Have mercy on me, God. Amen.
I prayed off and on several times that night. I cried a little more, too. Before I knew it, the sun was up and it was time to face another day.
I woke up early. It was something I had learned to do as a defense mechanism. The earlier I woke up, the sooner I could face whatever the guards and inmates were going to hit me with today.
I did some push-ups in my cell, and got myself ready for war. I heard a guard approach and wondered which one of
them it was today. Some of them pretended to be cool. Others were straight assholes. Either way, I was ready.
“Yankee man! Ya made bail!”
I was shocked. “I did?”
The guard opened my cell and I stepped out. He led me down the cell block toward an office down the hall. They processed my paperwork with grunts and mumbles, and then escorted me out of the building. I walked out, squinting from the sun.
Maya and Bishop were waiting for me. It took all of my restraint to walk and not run in Maya’s direction. I had never been so happy to see anyone in my whole life. I thought about my prayers last night. As I walked toward Maya and her father, I glanced quickly skyward, and said, “Thank you.”
GOOD AND EVIL
Bishop was giving me a very cold stare. I pretended not to notice. I was so relieved to be free. Or at least I was free for now. One of the police was still alongside me. Together, we walked over to where Maya and her father stood, and greeted them.
“Here you go, Bishop. He’s all yours,” the officer said.
“Thank you, my good man. See you in service on Sunday, eh?”
The officer nodded. “Ya know mi never miss a day. God bless you, Bishop.”
I was surprised. I shook the bishop’s hand as the officer walked away.
“Thank you, sir.” I was truly appreciative. “You literally answered my prayers. I mean that.”
He gave me a cold and icy stare. “No. Maya answered them.”
She looked at me, shyly. “I knew that my father could help. He worked at the embassy for all those years and made a lot of friends.”
Bishop was still eyeing me. “Save the lost. Dis is my calling. Maya has been hounding me for days to get involved and help you.”
“Well, I appreciate it, Bishop.”
I wondered why we were still standing there. I wanted to get away from this hellish place.
“Ya still not off free,” he said. “There will be a fair trial. An investigation. All of that soon come.”