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Confessions
I saw him. Its been years, he still looks good. Sexy lips, a body that screams sex. The eyes are still filled with life and humor. Never knew that just looking into his eyes would rekindle that good old feeling. You know what I am talking about, that feeling that sends a spark through the brain, down the spine and all through the body. Any feelings of hunger, depression, fatigue are replaced by that special feeling.
Background. We first met at a friend’s house. Sex first, then we got to know each other. He was younger, moved in all circles, from Cherry Gardens to Jungle, a regular patron of the popular clubs, a dancehall personality, I was the working girl, not your average 9-5er, but the checks were coming in and the bills get paid. He didnt work, traveled frequently, drove a nice car, several cell phones an always had money, lots of it. I didnt ask, he didnt tell. I didnt want to think about it because that wasnt my business. My friends told me not to worry. As long as he wasnt using it I had no problem. We partied hard, fucked harder. We did the family visits, his mother liked me. His father, who was living with second wife, was the older, much sexier version of him. His father liked me, alot, I suppose like how he would like wife # 3.
My man and I eventually moved in with each other.It was then that I made the decision not to crowd him, to give him some space, after all, we were living as man & wife so little space wouldn’t hurt. I started going out with my friends and he partied with his. We liked the arrangement. After all we shared the same bed at nights when he was in the island. It was fun to be featured online in photos and in videos at parties, looking glam & fab. I felt good, a member of the in crowd. Some of his friends also attended those parties. I never cheated with them though the flirting made me feel sky high. Never cheated with anyone. The unwritten rule was that being wife of a dancehall personality, it was my duty to look good, be seen and be home before him. Compromises they called it. I complied. Lifestyle of the working girl and the party animal.
Yep, he said I was the wife, but I soon realised that being the wife and playing the wife aint the same thing. I met him when he had many women and he chose me to settle down with. I was the one. Me. He gave me money and I was the one whose name was placed on the bank accounts (the accounts I knew of at least). The other women were still there, I suppose. They didnt come to the apartment, I trusted him that way. They didnt disrespect, but they were there. I thought I could live with it. Even though we didn’t party together together I got updates on his nightlife online & from Hype TV & RE TV. He looked happy, very happy, too happy. As a girls man he was always in the company of other women. Huh? But compromises, so, no problem. Then the other women became one particular woman. Always together, always laughing and dancing, always taking pictures with him and his friends. I asked him about her. ……..
(to be continued)
*Article written by Belly Bang*
*Article written by Belly Bang*
*Article written by Belly Bang*..BUM BANG
Kelly was pregnant. I called Marco and asked him about it. He asked me what was there to question. I spoke to my girls about it and they said that they knew. So why didn’t you tell me? They thought I heard. They wanted to know how I was taking it. Taking what? The news. What news? That girls replied together, as if they had rehearsed the line several times to perfection, “seh Kelly preggers fi Marvin”! Set of bitches.
I went home. For a few days I kept to myself, avoided most calls, tried to concentrate on work, scrubbed from floor to ceiling every night, cried, went to Church. Marvin called, told me that he missed me. I miss you too. Didn’t want to face another quarrel. I was could hear the whispers and laughter from my neighbours. They looked at me kinda funny. They must be speaking about me. Everyone was speaking about me. The world was against me. I could hear their voices. I couldn’t eat properly and sleep was a stranger. Tired. So tired. I wanted to sleep for a lifetime and leave all my troubles behind. My mother took me to her doctor. He referred me to specialist. Mr. Specialist called it clinical depression. Up to today, I cannot understand why doctors prescribe all these huge tablets to someone who doesn’t want to live, and call it treatment. I just don’t get it. I called Marvin’s mom. She asked me to come and look for her. I couldn’t go because I was certain that she too was laughing at me. Fucking tablets were just too big.
Ring ring. Friday night, I am at home watching Lifetime, Will & Grace. Them battyboys are really hilarious. Ring ring. Cheese on bread, who calling me den!! – so my mind said in my best Bajan accent. You will be surprised at what you meditate on when your mind is turning to mush. Ring ring. Hello…… Your man name Marvin?……. Who is this please?……. Mi seh if your man name Marvin?…… I really cant manage the stress now, call back later……… Hey fuck out, cant breed gal, Marvin love Kelly, cause fi her hole good ……… Click.
Ever since Kelly’s pregnancy became news on local cable, in the entertainment section of the Star, online, every fucking where, I have been receiving those calls. Dancehall regular breed and it becomes gossip. Not yet pregnant home alone wifey becomes target. Fucking idiots. I was at the hairdresser on a Friday. Marco called and said that he was coming to look for me. Haven’t seen much of him, he was always busy. Not seeing him was no problem, one less distraction means easier time to swallow the tablets. Marco wanted to talk. I waited and he arrived. The rat Frassman was
not in sight. But no Lexus, this was a new ride. What happened to the car, where you get this van from? He explained that Marvin imported it several months ago but it was parked at a friend’s house. Whose name the van in? Who insure it? Who responsible for it? What you mean by don’t worry about these things? I got in the van. He drove to Port Royal. Well, I told the girls I was not going to make it. My excuse to them, bad time of life. Marco explained that things are now a bit different, that he has been doing much of Marvin’s business. And So? The sea breeze felt cool and nice. Marco handed me an envelope, a large brown one. It contained cash. To the brim. Brand new paper money. He explained that Marvin wanted me to move to the house in Stony Hill. Whose house? What house? Marco went on to say that it was Marvin’s house, that it was just completed. Huh! More news! I must move in by month end, that’s next week. Why next week? This was too much for one evening. New X5, house, money on top of money, abandon apartment, move to new house. Marco handed me the spliff he was smoking. I was never a smoker but I took it and made one big draw. Exhale quickly. Another big draw, exhale quickly. Slowly after that, slowly, slowly. Marco then said that Marvin was coming next week Friday. Good. So why Marco looked so strange? Maybe it was the spliff. This is some good shit here. He then said in his low voice, “Kerry due to have baby next week”. I never coughed so much in my life……
.(to be continued)
*Article written by Belly Bang*
*Article written by Belly Bang* … *sniff sniff*
This house was definitely not a home. But the family and the girls went out of their way to make me feel comfortable. Ever since my return to Jamaica, the support I received was wonderful. The London experience was like a bad episode of Young and the Restless and I wanted it behind me. Mom stayed with me at the Stony Hill house for a few days and Sharon came over every day, insisting on carrying the gossip to me first hand. Miss Marcia, who was no longer just a housekeeper but a tower of strength, placed me on a strict diet as she was determined that I be fit not only mentally by physically. The parties and crowd issues that the house was now famous for was put on pause by Miss Marcia before I returned. The news of the miscarriage apparently was now well known and the calls, the flowers and gift baskets came fast and furious. Those were handled by Mom. Though I was expecting the preaching about my lifestyle and the need to draw closer to my maker, Moms was really supportive and gave me some soothing advice. She was more happy to see me than anything else. Marvin’s mother also came over for a few days. She insisted that I look forward to the future and try not to let the past hold me down. She, Moms and Miss Marcia spent hours together and made the perfect prayer meeting group. Together they had a great dislike for the girls, especially Sharon. But, diversity is what makes life important, so watching them watching Sharon was as interesting as listening to Sharon’s babbling on and on about the daily suss.
Marvin called often. I had nothing much to say to him. He wondered why. “I am tired” was my constant reply. He reassured me that when he returned to Jamaica that things will be different. Marvin said that he realised that he treated me really fucked up and that he felt sorry for that because he didn’t know how to deal with the situation. He said that he was looking forward to the birth of his child and the loss was too much for him to bear. He didn’t mention that Kelly and Marvin JR had returned to the island. That was courtesy of Sharon.
Marco. Marco. What can I say about him. Everything. Nothing. I haven’t seen him since I arrived home. I tried calling him, the phone went unanswered. Then it appeared that he stopped using that chip. I called his sidekick Frassman. Frassman said that he would pass on my message to Marco. No call from Marco. I started to feel restless. That yearning. The need was rising inside of me and I was becoming frustrated. The girls thought that I was still undergoing the stress of losing my child. That was there, but each time they consoled me and told me that all would be well, I knew better. It will never be better without Marco. I needed him, I had to have him, but I knew that it would be impossible now. When I called him from London, our last conversation, or should I say my call for forgiveness, he listened. I spoke for over 20 minutes and he listened. I confessed it all. I told him all that happened, the trip to the doctor, the reason I visited Marvin, everything. When I was through, as I wiped away the tears, he said goodbye and hung up. Plain and simple.
It as a Friday night and I got ready. I had to get out of the house. I had to shake my soul and let these cobwebs go. I told Moms that I will be back. I headed down the hill, driving slowly, listening to a few love songs, R Kelly. Memories. I pulled into a service station along Constant Spring Road, I needed a few items. As I stepped into the building, I was approached by a man. Strike that. I was approached by a boy. He appeared to be 17 going on 21. He had a swagger about him, cockiness was written all over his face, “Wassup”, he said. I looked at him. He was so sure of himself. I smiled and said “Nothing much, how are you” as I stood looking at him. “I saw you and I really want to get to know you better”, he chimed on. Cute, yeah. A few tattoos here and there. He had an accent. Probably visiting from the States. “That would be nice, but another time”, was all I said as I moved along and started picking up what I came here. The child came up beside me and whispered something in my ears. I knew that this was trouble. “Look here, I am not here to look for company, I am here to shop”. The words came out nice and easy, sweet, flirty, in perfect english. Wat the fuck mi ah think? Why mi nuh just run him nastiness and tell him fi guh look a school gal”!! He brushed against me and I felt it. He smiled the smile of a boy well beyond his age. I looked into his eyes. His eyes. Nope, this aint gonna work. “I have to go”, I said and replaced the items on the shelf and walk out. As I got in my ride he walked up beside me and handed me a piece of paper. I opened it and saw “ANDRE BLINGERS, 444-6670”. I crushed up the paper threw it in the truck, slammed the door in his face and took off. As I looked in the mirror I saw him smile. Andre fuck you Blingers. I stuck my hand through the window and raised my middle finger. Andre waved.
I drove to New Kingston and headed straight to The Hilton. It was buzzing and I stopped by the bar. I had a seat. The bartender that approached smiled. Handsome. He recommended a drink. It tasted good. We started talking. After a while he gave me another one on the house. My phone rang and I answered. It was Marvin, saying that he heard I was out of the house. I told him that I wanted to have some time to myself and he agreed that it was a god idea. “I love you and see you soon”, he whispered. “I love you too”, I managed to say as the bartender looked at me, taking every word out my mouth. The call ended and the bartender continued where he had stopped. I knew that he was trying to pick me up. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t interesting. He was singing a good song, assured me that he was single, only goes from home to the gym to work. I asked a few questions, confirmed that he has two baby mothers. They were living in Spanish Town and he supported his children.
I am someone. I was alive. I have needs. I am human. Nothing is wrong with striking up a conversation with a man. I aint promising sex. But. It wouldn’t hurt to get some. He got a text on his phone and he excused himself to make a call. I signalled to his supervisor and left some money for the bill as well as a hefty tip, My head was really buzzing. But it was still early, 10:30 and the night was still young. As I walked across the parking lot, I my heel broke, the ground started getting nearer. Shit. I didn’t hit the ground. A pair of hands were holding me. I managed to hobble to my feet, spun around and used my hand to strike out at the fucker. He grabbed my hand and I used the other to slap at his face. He held that one too. I started struggling with him and he pushed me against a car. I squinted, trying to see clearly as I fought this shit. There was no light in this section and the security guard was on the other side of the lot. The truck was parked under a light but that was in another row. Too far from where I was. I opened my mouth to scream and his hand clamped my mouth, the other now holding my two hands behind me. He braced himself against me and I was trying to get away. He was too powerful.
Strong. Sturdy. Sure. He removed his hand and kissed me. He released my hands and I embraced him and pulled him closer. I felt the gun in the waist of his jeans. But I wasn’t scared. I wanted this. Familiar. As our lips locked he raised my legs and placed them around his waist. Jah know. I couldn’t help myself. It was like passion gone wild. I felt like a woman again. The spell was broken. Or was it. It was when I pulled his T-shirt over his head and started to caress his muscled chest, while he still had me pinned on the car, that he spoke. “Next time you go to the gas station, pay attention”. Marco said it so casually, yet wrapped with 100% pure sexuality,
*Article written by Belly Bang*
Someone once said that …”sex is more than an act of pleasure, it’s the ability to be able to feel so close to a person, so connected, so comfortable that it’s almost breathtaking to the point you feel you cant take it. And at this moment you’re part of them”.
There were no birds, no soft songs, no sweet nothings. We had sex how we knew we should. Without rules and restrictions. No borders. Old fashion understanding . Clawing hands. The release of tension. I wrapped my legs around his waist & pulled him inside me, holding his back tightly. This was it. He was sweating, moving with me. We were one. One heartbeat. We didn’t care. Marco’s pants was bundled around his knees, my dress was around my waist, the night air was cool and crisp, the heat from our bodies just right. Right for what was my now. With one hand he held the gun behind my back. With the other he held my face as we kissed. Nothing mattered at that time, His chest, muscles, charm, cruelty, him. He was all mine for that moment and that was what mattered. With one swift movement he tried the pulled the car door. It didn’t open. Still fucking, we moved to the next car, he tried the back door. It opened and we got in. Then he really started. I screamed and he covered my mouth with his hand and refused to stop. I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted it to last forever. Too much, this was way too much, and I was loving it. My role was to obey his commands, his directions, his demands, his body. I didn’t care. It was raw, it was spontaneous. What was better than sex? Sex with Marco.
It was over. I sat in the truck and watched him get on his bike. He looked at me as he zipped his jacket and put on his helmet. He didn’t smile. No goodbyes. No see you laters. Nothing. We just fucked, finished, sorted out our clothes and walked away from the car. The owner is gonna be mad as rass. The bike was parked under a tree in front of my truck. He started it, took out a blue piece of paper from his pants pocket and placed it in his jacket. He rode off. The end. For now. It lasted only 30 minutes from the grab to him riding off. It seemed like forever. I was tired. My clothes, or what was left of them, needed changing. I had no idea where my shoes went. My makeup was a mess not to mention the hair. I turned on the vanity light and looked at myself in the mirror. What I saw looking back at me was satisfaction. How ironic. (1) My man, I mean my main man, I mean the man that people knew was my man, was hundreds of miles away in London living it up with his women. Marvin was probably married for all I knew. (2) I recently had a miscarriage. (3) Kelly was back in Jamaica up to who knows what. (4) I had no real friends. The girls were good company but I do know that they could be vicious bitches. (5) I was yet to have a child. (6) I just had sex in a stranger’s car, in a parking lot, with a man who I knew so much about yet he was still a big mystery. (7) Marco has his baby mother who he loved.
My life is now officially fucked up. And here I was, stretched out in the front of my truck, the air conditioning on, my legs outstretched, the smell of manliness all over me. Here I was talking about being satisfied. Where is the misery, the guilt, the shame? Fuck that. I AM SATISFIED. Something caught my eye. It was a bag on the back seat. I reached around and took it up. Where did it come from? This bag wasn’t here when I parked earlier. The doors to the van lock automatically when I am 10 feet away with the keys in my hand. I opened the bag. Several items were inside. Items that I wanted at the service station. Items that I took up and replaced when that Andre Blingers was putting the moves on me. I saw a receipt. The items were purchased tonight at the same service station. How the hell did he get in the truck? I was getting angry. I reached out before the front passenger seat and was feeling for the paper with his number that I had previously thrown there. That fucker Andre is going to get a piece of my mind. I didn’t see the paper. Did Andre really remove the paper when he broke in the truck? It was a blue piece of paper. I searched under the seat. No paper. No blue paper. The only paper I have seen since I left the service station was….was… the piece of paper….the piece of blue paper I saw Marco place in his jacket pocket right before he rode off. Shit. Did Marco have spare keys? Was he really following me? But if he stayed behind to buy the items, how did he find me?
The phone rang. I reached in the handbag and answered it. It was still ringing. Or should I say a phone was ringing but it wasn’t my phone. I looked around and felt under my seat and found a cell phone. It stopped. Did Marco forget his phone when he broke in? The phone rang again. I answered. “Hello”. “Yuh good?”, said Marco. “Yes”, I was getting more surprised at his antics. “Yuh get wat yuh want now so yuh good”, said he, cool and calm. I didn’t hear anything in the background, so that meant that he stopped somewhere quiet. “How yuh get in the truck?”, I asked, I really wanted to know. “You are the one who love to play games, you tell me”, cool and calm again. Games? Hold on. We just had sex. He came and found me. He refused to take my calls. He changed his number. And I was the one playing games? “Fuck off”, was all I could say. “Just answer the phone when mi call”, Marco said quietly. “How mi ah guh know that is YOU calling?”, I snapped. “Cause is me one have this number and is me one supposed fi call you”. “Then suppose I dont answer? Suppose mi give the number to someone else?”, I threw at him. “Gi anybody yuh want”, he said without any emotions, sounding kinda like a threat. Was this the man who I just fucked? Yes it was. This was the side of Marco that I was introduced to on many occasions. Contradictory. Rough. Cold. Intense. “Yuh going home”, said he. That sounded like an order than a question. “Yes”, I was way too tired to argue. He hung up. Typical.
The house was quiet and everyone seemed to be asleep. There was a slight drizzle. As I reached for the keys to the front door, it was then I noticed a new addition to the bunch. It was a gold heart shaped key ring with the words “FOREVER” engraved on one side. It was then the thunder and lightning started as the rain pelted the driveway.
Marvin’s calls became more frequent. We would speak for lengthy periods About the good times we had. He begged my forgiveness. Could I forgive him? Should I just keep on living the lie? But I was also building on the lie. My hands were not clean. It reached the point that I wasn’t even sure that Marvin was lying or if I wanted to keep on acting. But I was a good actress. Marvin had successfully brought me to my knees and the bruises were still there. But he still my man. It was still my relationship. But I saw the problem. The old Marvin was returning. The “pre Kelly” Marvin was seriously gaining ground. The Marvin who now remembered our early days, the days when we would sit and hold each other, whispering in each other’s ears, was at the door to my heart. The Marvin who would touch me in those places that created sensuality, who was able to create that ever flowing river of emotions. Marvin was not going to let my heart go so easily. But was I prepared to wrestle my future from him and go my own way?
Marco called me everyday. No set time. The phone he gave me would just ring and I knew that it was him. Nothing much was said. Short questions about how I was doing, one line replies. Nothing about love, caring, missing me, wanting me. Nothing said. But I could hear them. His intensity, his jealousy, his emotions were louder than any spoken word. These were dangerous waters. He was a dangerous man. But, he told me that all I heard was lies, that he was a hustler. But a hustler that remains unpredictable, untameable. Someone who values trust. Someone who demands loyalty. Someone who you will never be certain of. I didn’t want to love him. All my senses told me that it was wrong and bound to end in tragedy. How could I love Marco? What will our future be like? One week had passed since the parking lot. However, I haven’t seen him since. He showed no signs that he wanted to see me. Was this my punishment for my deeds, my deception? It was as if he wanted me to be there, just existing for him , purposely prodding my nerves. As if he was examining me, my reactions, teasing me, daring me.
Its been a week. Thunder, the selector (episode 6), was hosting his annual Boat Ride on the Caribbean Queen, downtown. Why they call it a boat ride I have no idea as the boat never leaves the dock. But it was an event that I had to attend. Each year Marvin and I would attend. This year Marvin asked me to attend and represent him. He knew that I had been through alot but be wanted things to get back to normal, how they were, how they will be when he returns home. Everyone attends Thunder’s Silk & Satin Boat Ride. Every dancehall personality, DJ, dancer, groupie, everyone. It was a crowded affair with persons from within and outside Jamaica. In attendance would be the fashionables and the spenders. I knew them all. This was the time of year that we would gather, pose, laugh or fake laughter. The girls were going. Marco was going. I went shopping with the girls. I planned on keeping it simple and elegant. The little black dress with accessories could never be wrong. The visit to the hairdresser was like for hours. I made plans for Paul and Prince (episode 6) to pick me up at home and then we would all go to the Pegasus Hotel in New Kingston where we would meet the girls. Then we would all head downtown.
At home, while I slipped on my heels, the phone rang. The special phone. “Hey”, I said. “Yuh good”, came the voice. “Getting ready, Paul said that he would be here in the next 5 minutes and we are going to meet the girls at the Pegasus”. “You good”, Marco repeated. Ok, something was up. I could sense it. “I am good”. “Look here, Bumpy going to be at the Boat Ride”, said he. My stomach got in a twist. A feeling of sickness washed over me like a wave. He and Bumpy attend every year, it wasn’t anything new. So why as he telling me? It wasn’t anything unexpected. But this was a new dimension. A new reality. Things had changed. We were different, Marco and I. But Bumpy was still his woman and I was now the one on the outside, interfering . “You good”. His words brought me back to reality. “Yes I am, see you there”, was all I could say. “Keep safe. Later”, were his words before he hung up. My mind was racing, then it went blank. Next thing I knew I was in Paul’s car chatting to him and Prince. We were nearing New Kingston. I had no idea how I skipped so much time and had no memory of what had transpired since Marco’s call. When I realised, I paused, took a deep breath and changed the topic from whatever it was we were speaking about. Paul looked at me and laughed and asked about the sudden change in my mood. I pulled the shawl closer around my shoulders.
Paul parked by outside the hotel and Prince went inside to call the girls. I saw their ride also parked infront the hotel by the main door so they couldn’t be far. Paul took the opportunity to quiz me. He wanted to know what was the matter. He said I was distant and unfocused. I told him that I had some major things on my mind. Paul asked me who it was. I looked at him quickly and laughed. There was no one in my life but Marvin I assured him. As if the Lord was waiting to reveal my lying ways, that phone rang. I was ignoring it. Paul was looking at it. Paul started to laugh. I became annoyed. The phone kept on ringing. I answered. I didn’t know what to say to Paul except that I was going to wait on someone to collect something for somebody. I told him that I will meet him at the Boat Ride and that he must apologise to the girls for me but I will make it up to them later in the night. I got out and walked out to Knutsford Boulevard and climbed into the back of the black tinted sedan. Frassman took off and within minutes we were by a small restaurant in Liguanea. I walked in and saw Marco by the bar. He looked at me and winked and used his hand to pat the stool beside him . I walked over and sat beside him. He was dressed in a white shirt and black jeans. His hair, that had undergone a growth spurt, was in neat cane rows. He looked as comfortable here as he would in the tough White Wing community off Hagley Park Road. Marco’s smile was relaxing, disarming, cool, charming, full of surprises. We sat looking into each other’s eyes. Those eyes. “What next”, I said. “Nothing. Wi just chilling and spending some quality time”, said he. We ordered drinks and spoke about silly things, little things. We were clearly going around the real subject. His phone rang. He looked at the number and looked at me. “I know its Bumpy, so answer it”, I said, trying my best to speak in a low not jealous tone. “She can wait till wi finish”, Marco said as he locked off the phone. That was definitely something new. We didn’t talk about us and the future. No talk about love. Just small insignificant nothings. After forty five minutes he said it was time to go. He paid the bill and we went outside and got in the car driven by Frassman. On the way downtown, he gently pulled me closer to him and I rested my head on his shoulder. He caressed my back, held up my face and we kissed. He looked into my face with those deep soulful eyes and said “You already know wat is wat. Just keep the order and everyting will be ok”, A million thoughts raced through my mind. His rude and brazen attitude had no limits. I stared at him and was equally surprised at what escaped my lips, “Ok”. Did I just commit to him with that one simple word? No I didn’t. Ok isn’t commitment. It is just “Ok”. But I knew that one word said alot. Too many things. Fuck Ok, this was not Ok.
I expected that he was going to arrange for us to arrive at the Boat Ride separately, given the circumstances. I was surprised and disturbed when the car continued downtown and pulled into the drop off zone, I looked through the tinted window and saw the flashing lights, the crowd, the glee and glamour and became afraid and felt exposed. Marco squeezed my hand, kissed me on the neck and let go. I got out the car and walked over to the red carpet and stood before a large banner. As the dozen or so cameramen clicked away, I posed, smiled, turned here and there, waving to people who stood around calling my name. When that was done I walked into the venue and as I made my way to our usual tent. I could hear the selector hailing Andre Blingers and the Blingers family from Canada. I stood beside the girls. Paul and Prince were by now on the boat. Marco and Bumpy were beside me, holding hands, laughing, exchanging words. The perfect couple.
*Article written by Belly Bang*
Sharon and the girls were enjoying themselves. The Boat Ride was going good. The music was pumping, the crowd was moving and the cameramen were clicking away. Marco and Bumpy had their hands locked together. They looked comfortable, happy, inseparable. Thunder was here, there and everywhere. His dance, his night to shine. I was rocking to the beat of the music, wrapped in a glow. A glow that was so wrong, yet so right. In the space of a few months, I had managed to move from a dysfunctional relationship with a cheating, self centred jerk, to a “relationship” with Marco, where I was now the cheat, the one living the lie. I sipped at a glass of something, dont know what it was, just remembered that Paul had handed it to me., something fruity with vodka. I was just staring out at nothing in particular when something forced me to focus. It was a familiar face, Andre Blingers. He was with a group, all waving Hennessy and Cristal bottles, splashing a few people around them. They had no care in the world. Well, they were enjoying themselves. And he kept looking in my direction. He waved and shouted some greeting or the other. I cut my eyes and turned away. He was too much.
Paul and Prince reappeared and we started to talk. Selectors from Stone Love were now playing music from the 70’s and 80’s and Prince held me and we started to dance. I had not a care in the world at this time and was determined to enjoy myself. I reached out and handed my drink to Paul and Prince spun me around and I stopped suddenly in the arms of someone else. Tipsy and frightened, I looked up saw that it was Andre. “Hey you”, he said as we danced. Didnt even know that someone his age appreciated this type of music much less to move so smoothly to the beat. As Gladys Knight and the Pips belted out “Midnight Train To Georgia”, I said to him, “ Yuh know that yuh going get yuhself in some serious problems if yuh continue same way”. “Big Woman, listen this, any problem weh reach me, mi have the solution”, was his reply as he moved closer. I eased him off a bit but kept the pace going as he was a fairly good dancer. “Some things may just be bigger than you”, I said. He laughed and as Barbra Streisand and Barry Gibbs started the line “…and we’ve got nothing to be guilty of….” he started singing the words to the song. “Nothing cant bigger dan wat mi have, yuh nuh want find out?”, he smirked. He still had a bottle in his hand and he took a gulp from it and started to pass it to me. I told him no, not interested. Way too much of him now. “Big Woman, you know the night mi see you by di gas station, mi just cant get you out ma mind”. Enough I said and pushed him away. “Thanks for the dance still, you have vibes Big Woman”, he said as he moved back to his group who were by now watching both of us with some amount of interest. I turned and moved back to my original spot. Bumpy and Marco were by now locked in each other’s arms, her head resting on his shoulder, both slowly dancing away.
I felt someone tapping my arm and I looked around and saw Kelly. “Hey!!”, she said, genuinely looking happy to see me. “Kelly, how are you?”, was my reply. “Mi deh yah enuh. Mi really glad to see you out still cause yuh know that you and Marvin did really have the place lock and like how him away mi kinda glad that you keeping up the ting still”. OK. Thank you Kelly for bringing up that name at this time. But I wasn’t going to let it bother me, that much. It’s a night to enjoy myself and neither Kelly nor Bumpy are going to stop that. “So who and you come?”, was all I could say, as I looked around at the scene. She moved and stood in my sight, “Mi and mi bredda and him friend dem”. Ok. “Well, enjoy yuh self and wi will link later then”, I said in a nice go about your business way as I took a fresh drink from Paul. She flashed a smile and made her way off in the sea of fabric, weed and jewellery. Kelly went straight over to Andre said something to him and both waved at me. Kelly hard at work as usual. Always in the spotlight.
By now the girls had gathered around me and I could sense that one of their sessions was about to start. Before I could count to three, Sharon led the charge. “Di likkle bwoy deh look like him like you, where you know him from?”, she begun. “First time mi ah meet him is right here”, I lied. “Him and Kelly tight though, mi hear seh ah fi him group she ah par wid now, since Marvin nuh really deh bout again”, she slipped in. Yep, I could tell that she couldn’t wait to bring up Marvin’s name. “Mi see dat bwoy around the place still. Mi hear him name Andre Blingers and him mussi come from Canada. Pure big dollars him ah spend from wah day. And is pure big woman him look. Mi ah wonder wah Kelly ah do wid him”, she rambled on. What was Kelly doing with him indeed. But, fuck that. If Kelly want fuck under tree, in the river or on the sidewalk that is her business right now. I cannot let other people who are living their lives rule mine. “Mi notice seh Kelly nuh even look pon Marco him, or is cause she see him wid Bumpy. She mussi nuh want ketch nuh lick inna the place tonight. But still, the whole ah unno live loving. She used fi fuck Marco then drap pon Marvin, Marco and Bumpy deh yah, you deh yah. Wat ah mix up”, she laughed. What ah mix up indeed. Sharon was going on and on the other girls had joined in at this time, pulling together the gossip gathered or created throughout the night. I had tuned them out, managing to hear them but not listening to them. I was not in the mood but for better or for worst they were still my girls. Andre was now coming across to us and out of nowhere Frassman appeared and stood infront of him, and they appeared to be talking to each other. They laughed and Frassman held him by a shoulder and led him away to one of the bars.
I was feeling tired by now. A few drinks, the chatting, the lights, the excitement. Paul and Prince came over and told us that they were leaving and asked if I was going home with them or I was staying. I asked them to wait on me and said my goodbyes to the girls. We walked outside and Prince left for the car while we waited at a point. “So, that was him?”, Paul asked. “Him who you talking?”. “The young fellow, Andre mi hear seh him name. Is he the one who you seeing?”, he pressed. “Paul, get a grip of yourself. What the rass mi doing with that pickney? Plus, try remember that I have Marvin so that isn’t even something I would consider”. “Marvin is in England doing who knows what and already him breed up Kelly and never care bout you or him, so try nuh bring Marvin into this”, Paul insisted. “I am not interested in meeting anyone or knowing anyone else who might just complicate mi life. You already know what happened the last time and the stress mi go through when mi did find out that mi pregnant. Never again”, was my reply as my mind reflected on that terrible period. “All now you never tell me who the man was, you plan on telling me now?” That was so true. I never did get around to telling Paul the truth behind the pregnancy, though he stood in as the baby father at the doctor (episode 9). A black tinted sedan pulled up in front of us and Paul pulled me back as he looked suspiciously at it. “Paul, I thank you for your company tonight, I thank you for the offer for the ride home, but I have to go now”, and with that I got in the car and closed the door. Inside was dark, the driver pulled away from the curb. I could make out that it was Frassman behind the steering wheel.
My regular phone rang. The number was vaguely familiar. I answered and when I heard Andre’s voice I immediately hung up. Annoyance. Then that special phone rang and I answered it. “Wassup”, was the smooth quiet voice. “Tired, want to sleep, thanks for the ride, wish you were here though”, I managed to say. I didn’t hear any music in the background so I knew that Marco had already left the Boat Ride. I could hear Bumpy’s voice asking if he wanted something to eat. He said no and got back to me, “I see that you enjoyed yourself”. “Yes, no regrets and it was good seeing the crowd. So when am I going to see you again”, i was sounding a bit needy and I knew it. “Tomorrow, next year, later, dont worry about that”, said he. “I am not worrying, its just that I miss you already”, I said. I struck me that I had now crossed that official line and was other woman in his life. Or at least one of the other women, who to tell. “The only thing you need to do is to settle yourself, relax and it will all work out”, he sounded reassuring. “You know that mi check fi you still, with all what you do, mi still rate you”, and with those words he hung up. Andre kept calling.
*Article writting by Belly Bang
A week had passed since the Boat Ride. It was a Saturday morning and I got up and headed downstairs. Miss Marcia was away for the weekend, having had some personal emergency. Moms had returned home. So I was pretty much alone at home, but alone and doing good. The stress of London was behind me and I was finally piecing back my life, one shred at a time. As I stepped into the living room I saw Marco. He was sitting watching television. Last time I saw him was the night of the Boat Ride and its been a while since we saw each at the house. As I mentioned before, he had a key, so seeing him inside was not a surprise. Seeing him inside, sitting still was a surprise. Marco had limited his business at the house to going to the basement door that always remained locked, and to which he and Frassman had the only keys. That was based on some arrangement I suppose that they had with Marvin. Marco never watched television here. He never sat in the sofa, here. I was happy to see him though. I told him good morning, he replied, keeping his eyes fixed on an old western movie. I went into the kitchen and looked through a window and saw a bike parked in the driveway. The electronic gate outside was locked. No Frassman in sight. So Marco came alone. I made a cup of tea and made my way into the living room and sat across from him. Then he started talking.
At noon, I heard the buzzer at the gate chime. I looked outside and when I saw them I opened the electronic gate from inside. They came in. All 25 of them. I opened the front door and stood watching. Several went to either side of the house and a few proceeded to the garage where the vehicles were parked. A tall man, wearing a vest, approached me and gave me a paper, said it was a warrant to search the premises, and asked me to stand outside with some female officers. I held unto my bathrobe tightly and stood in the driveway, three females surrounding me. The other officers went inside the house. The sun was hot but I remained numb. I had never experienced a situation like this before. Being the subject of a massive raid by the police isn’t for the faint hearted. And right then I wanted to melt on the hot asphalt. Deep down, I knew that this was inevitable. I was not employed. The only source of income was through what was taken from the bank accounts held by Marvin and myself and whatever I was instructed to collect at Western Union. I lived in a massive fully furnished house that could hold several families. Huge parties are held with several persons from the dancehall fraternity in attendance – though they were the ones to host them, the house was just the venue. The Range and Lexus, Marvin’s car, were parked in the garage. I looked up and watched the policemen as they passed the windows on the 3 upper levels, going up and down the staircases, in and out of the bedrooms. I knew that I was being kept outside as some form of punishment or a prelude to bigger things that would come. The sun was hot, my life was in turmoil and the only thing I could do was to keep my fucking mouth shut. I asked the females if I could wait in a gazebo that was to the front and they agreed. I sat down and looked out on the city view, thinking about where family and friends were at this hour, what they were doing, who they were doing it with. I wanted Marco beside me, to hold me, to be my tower of strength. But this isn’t his type of party. Not his crowd.
The vehicles were driven unto the driveway and searched thoroughly. Several men in greasy overalls arrived in a truck and they jacked up the Range and the Lexus, removed the wheels and the spare tyres and examined every inch, inside and out. I could hear furniture being moved in the house and hushed expletives now and then. I was getting hungry and my stamina was failing. Too much now, way too much. How much can one person bear. But then again, this is the price I have to pay. With the good comes the bad. With the hype, the humiliation. Cant plant trouble and reap happiness every day. The garden was searched leaf by leaf, rose bush by rose bush. Even a lawnmower that was outside was turned upside down and given a proper shake. The tall man, who I learnt to be the Superintendent, came out and looked at the men who were by now replacing the tyres on the vehicles. He looked angry. He asked them if they found anything and they said no. He asked them why they are replacing the tyres and they said that I was the only one at the house and if he expected me to replace them. Fuck her, he said and walked off. The men continued doing what they were doing. God bless them. Men among monsters.
It was now 6:00 in the evening and I was still in the gazebo. The 3 female officers who were with me remained silent. One by one the police officers exited the house, evidently tired and frustrated. The Superintendent approached with a large black garbage bag. He handed me a piece of paper with some writing and told me to sign at the end. I asked him what it was I was signing to and he got miserable and asked me if I was even able to read and write. I looked at him. He seemed sour and full of bitterness. I took the paper from his hands and looked at the contents. It was a list. Travel documents, bank books, bank records, several cellular phones, motor vehicle documents, remittance slips, miscellaneous papers I never even knew were in the house and every single scrap of paper that was labelled a receipt. I signed the paper and he handed me the carbon copy. He then walked up the driveway with his troops in tow. I sat in the gazebo and watched them leave. I then looked at the house, with its open windows, curtains blowing through them, lights on. Extreme fatigue. That was what was gripping my body at that moment. I just sat in the gazebo and said a small prayer, being grateful for living through another day.
I got up and decided to face the inevitable. More than that I had to use the bathroom. I went through the main hall and to the nearest bathroom. It was only after emerging that I really took in the scope of the hurricane. Everything that could be moved and dismantled was disturbed. The kitchen, helper’s quarters, entertainment area and lower level guestrooms were ransacked. The master bedroom, the one containing Marvin’s belongings, the one I refused to sleep in, was ripped to shreds. The mattress was torn open and draws and clothing were open and strewn on the ground. My room suffered a similar fate. Makeup, perfume bottles and clothes littered the floor. The other bedrooms were in the same condition. Nothing was untouched. I returned downstairs and poured myself a drink from the bar. I couldn’t manage this. The wiring in the entertainment area was ripped from the floor and the walls and the speakers were all forced open. I went to the basement door. That door was now broken in several pieces. I stepped inside. I could see the bathroom, at least two separate rooms and a large area containing empty carton boxes. Those boxes were now tattered and appeared to have been trampled. Cupboard doors were opened and the insides clear and clean.
I walked upstairs and unto the driveway. I then went to the gate and opened the letterbox and removed the cellular phone Marco had placed there. There were 2 missed calls. As I walked down the driveway, I stopped by the gazebo, still sipping the vodka. It was now that I really digested what Marco told me. Marvin was in police custody in London, after being held in a drug sting. He was facing multiple charges and there was the possibility of at least 20 years in prison if convicted. But something had gone wrong. Money was missing. Several hundred thousand pounds. People’s money. And they were pissed. The police were pissed. Information was that some of the money was sent to Jamaica. The police here were contacted by their counterparts in London. Other police officers were contacted by the people. They would be coming to the house today. Not sure which would reach first. Marco insisted that everything was ok, that I should just cooperate and I would be left alone. I heard a noise outside like vehicles on the driveway and I jumped up. He remained seated and told me to relax, that it was only Frassman and one of his soldiers returning the Range and the Lexus. I didn’t even realise that they weren’t in the garage. When did they take them out? Why did they take them out? Marco said that I was asking too many questions. My mind was racing. I thought of the basement. What about the basement? What is in teh basement? Guns, drugs, money, bodies? He laughed. I wanted to slap the shit out of him. Marco and Frassman had that area under lock and key doing who knows what inside. Marco didn’t look fazed at all. He asked me to follow him and we went downstairs and he opened the basement door. It wasn’t locked, only closed. It was always kept locked. Inside was empty, only carton boxes stacked neatly in one of the rooms. We left the room and he locked the door with his key. He then told not to say anything, just remain calm. I started to cry and asked him what it was that he and Marvin got me into. He held me and pulled me towards him. I tried to pull away but he held me closer, telling me to relax, it will be over soon. “Open yuh eyes and look at me”, Marco said in a stern but calm voice. I looked at him, tears flowing down my face. “Nuff tings you dont know, nuff tings you will never know. What you do know is that I am looking out for you”, he said as he handed me a handkerchief.
*Article written by Belly Bang*—mi figet fi put that
What do you do when your life has taken a turn for the worst? I dont know about you, but sitting there, in the ransacked house, thinking the recent roller coaster ride I have been on with Marvin, Marco, Kelly, the pregnancy, the medication, the depression, the frustration, every fucking thing……I had absolutely no idea what to do. Do I call Moms and tell her what happened? I should but not now, maybe soon, may be never, I really dont now. Call Marvin’s Moms and tell her about the episode? That her son was in jail in the United Kingdom and that there is the strong probability that the next time she will see him is resurrection morning? Call the girls and ask them to come over for their support? Call Dominoes and order a pizza because I was so hungry . The asshole policemen had unplugged the fridge in their search for weapons of mass destruction among the mayonnaise, lettuce and left over chicken. Within 45 minutes I was sitting on the driveway, enjoying my full house pizza, my first meal for the day, under the stars. No one came after the police left. Marco wasn’t expected. I was pretty much on my own during this time. The tightness in my chest, that rose up while I was pondering my predicament, subsided with each bite. Food really makes you consider alot. I entered the house, took a bath, packed a bag, secured the windows and doors, turned off the lights, and stepped out. The house can wait. I climbed in the van and headed through the Junction. The phone started to ring, Marco calling. I wasn’t in the mood to answer. Not now. Maybe later. Maybe never. Who to tell.
When I arrived in Tower Isle in St. Mary, I stopped by a hotel. Never planned to, just stopped. I checked in, crawled into bed, and felt at peace, for now. Thanks to Marco, he had prepared me for the arrival of the police. He didn’t tell me how I was going to make it through – moneywise – after they left. No doubt he had a plan. He just didn’t feel the need to tell me then. Perhaps I would have to continue stumbling through this entire ordeal one day, and crisis, at a time, while he plots and plans each move. Well, get vex money is a must, especially when you living the life that I live. Something that can tide you over and keep you warm and comfortable until things are settled. Credit cards and debit cards were all gone with the long arms of the law. Lucky for me, the police didn’t feel the need to search the heavy bathrobe I was wearing. If they had done so, they would have found the cash filled envelopes that were strapped to my stomach and legs. In going to the bank, I would sometimes withdraw a little much for clothes, little this and that for emergencies. A police raid counts as an emergency, right? Well, that little much was now in my travelling bag, beside the bed in the hotel room. The phone continued to ring. I locked it off. I fell asleep.
I didn’t want to have a care in the world. The phone remained off. The van was parked in a shed located by the hotel’s maintenance department, so anyone passing and looking in would not see it. I went to the beach. I bought a book and started reading it. Something written by Johnnie Cochran, one of the lawyers for OJ Simpson. I went to a nearby club, had a few drinks, enjoyed the music. I had to have time for me. In times of trouble, the only person that matters is you, no one else. Its my mind, my emotions, my mental health that was on the verge of playing marbles with each other. This wasn’t the best solution. But it was my solution. After several days I developed a routine. Relax and be pampered. That was the only routine I wanted. I did call Miss Marcia, Moms and Marvin’s mother. I had their digits scribbled down in a notebook. I couldn’t just disappear like that, letting them find the house topsy turvy, me missing and no explanation. They would have called the police, who in turn would have yet another reason to go hunting for me. I explained to each of them that the house was searched, that I needed some time alone and I will be back in a few days. They pleaded with me to return home, to be around them, but I couldn’t. Marvin’s mom took the news of his arrest in stride. She sounded tired. Like a woman who was barely making it through. When I emerge from this solitude, I must go and see her. She was a good woman, who has never failed to stand beside me through thick and thin. She told me that she dreamed him couple nights ago and that she knew that something terrible had happened. She promised to call his father. Marco stopped calling.
After a week, I decided it was time to leave. I took a leisurely drive to Ocho Rios, Faiths Pen, Ewarton, Spanish Town, then unto the Mandela highway cruising into the city. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I had absolutely no idea where I was going from here. Destitute? Get job? Sell the vehicles and the house? Sell vehicles and house!!! The only vehicle that was in my name was the Range. The Lexus was in Marvin’s mother’s name. I had no idea whose name the house was in. In fact. I had no idea how the utility bills were paid. Never got any at the house. Funny how these things are taken for granted up until the shit hits the fan. Whose name was the house in? Marco said it was Marvin’s house. So he said. I am not sure of anything right now and who to believe. What would I do for money? The cash I had in the travelling bag isn’t going to last forever. Marco. That little shithouse was the reason why I was up to my neck in these trials and tribulations. Ok. So I was the true reason, but right now it was easier directing my growing anger at him, as he was the one who was keeping secrets, being all into this mystery and shit. Marco was pulling some strings and it wasn’t just those on his boxer shorts.
As I approached the Six Mile bridge, I veered right and headed down Spanish Town Road. I had to see the little fucker by the hook or the crook. This was some serious bloodclawt that was going down and me alone naw guh wallow in the mess while him decide, in his contented dont care manner, what I should do and when. Left unto Hagley Park Road, left unto Olympic Way. Right into White Wing. Children were running up and down in the open dusty space, enjoying themselves in the Saturday evening. Women were seated around plastic basins washing. Several men were seen sitting near the entrance as I drove in and they eyed the van with suspicion. One man took something from his waist and placed it in his lap. This was the first time I was coming down here without Marvin. The only times I have been in this zinc fenced community of ad hoc houses was with Marvin. Even when Marco and I started fucking, I never came down here. Yes, I was now convinced that all it was, was pure fucking. Nothing was ever there between us. I was fooling myself into believing that we had something special going on. Fuck Marco, fuck special. Him did just want the pussy as he felt the need and him never did give a shit about me. Well, good for him, all I want now is some answers and seeing that Marvin turn jailbird, again, Marco better try answer nuff tings.
I slowly drove through the massive dust bowl that was ringed by houses, clothes lines, and some communal bathrooms. How the fuck can Marco continue to live in a place like this? Him have him money, or access to it, or whatever. Him is supposed to be big big community activist or hustler as him describe himself. As a matter of fact, him running extortion, according to mout, so him have him change put down. I was so pissed by now. I didn’t know where he lived in this place, I didn’t even know if he was here now, or where he was, but I had to start somewhere. Marco haffi answer fi the sins of himself, Marvin and the devil himself. I was really really pissed. Then I saw the X5. I hit the brakes. Beside it was a black tinted Audi, probably the same car that Frassman was driving the night of the Boat Ride. They were parked on a concreted area, beside a row of houses. Several bikes were also parked on the area. About 10 men and boys were sitting on crates near to the vehicles, with their backs to a wall. I pulled up beside them and came out the van. Handbag over the arm, sun glasses over the eyes, attitude in the face and a determination in my heart, I approached them. I asked for Marco. No one knew who I was talking about. I turned to the oldest one, who was about 25 and asked for Frassman. He laughed and asked me if I was Marvin’s wife. I said yes and he said that it was a long time since I have been down here. He went on into some small talk. I figured he was delaying me. Why, I cant tell. I spoke to him, chit chat, the others joined in, I forced a pleasant face. The man begged me a smalls to buy some food for his friends, I gave him some change I had in the bag. He then pointed behind some houses and said that Marco was there. Bingo! Him naw escape my judgement inna this here evening!!!
I went behind the houses and saw a group of men playing football. All shirtless and dirty. Marco was playing. He kicked the ball with ease, his muscles flexing with every move, the brown tone of his body glistening with sweat. He looked as if he was having the time of his life. His face was relaxed, handsome, sexy. Marco appeared like a man among boys. A real man, a man full of vigour, stamina, sex. I sat on a stone, the bag in my lap, my eyes fixed on the image before me. Damn this man and everything he stood for. Damn him and his sexy lips, his deep voice as he shouted commands to the men on his side, damn him and his smile as he tackled members on the other side. Fuck you Marco. Fuck you, fuck you, I want to fuck you. No I dont!! I am cross, angry and am supposed to be miserable. I was watching him for 15 minutes and he paid me no attention. He just kept on playing, his powerful legs going here and there, his arms swaying, his chest heaving. Someone tapped me on my shoulder and I looked up and saw that it was Frassman. He handed me a bottle of water and I said thanks. He then returned to a dark doorway behind me, where apparently he was, unnoticed, all this time. I heard shouting and saw Marco on the ground, holding unto his leg. He got up, limped across the field to where I was and sat beside me. The game continued. “Wassup”, he said, just like that. Plain old so so “wassup”. Frassman appeared again and handed him a bag and Marco took a small jar from it. “B, rub mi foot fi mi nuh, please, mi injuries acting up again”, he begged. And without warning he stretched across, took up my handbag, plopped his hairy, dirty leg on my lap, and tossed the jar in my hand.
One week ago he appeared in my house, turned my life upside down with his news, left me to face the police all alone, he hasn’t seen me since then, he hasn’t heard from me though he was calling, my life and probably his is going downhill, and the ONLY THING HIM AH FRET BOUT IS HIM INJURIES!! HIM MUSSI KNOCK HIM HEAD PON EVERY BRANCH OF A FOOL FOOL TREE!!!. “Yuh want me fi do wat?”, I said, still trying to grasp his attitude. “Please nuh”, he begged again, smiling this time, looking at me with those deep soulful eyes. I used a shirt that he had in his bag and wiped the dirt from his leg. I opened the jar, took out some ointment, and dutifully started rubbing.
*Article written by Belly Bang*
You cant run from trouble, there aint no place that far. Miss Marcia, with obvious help, brought the house back to a sensible state. If you were not aware of the raid, you would have thought that it was just a big cleaning effort on her part. But, walking through the house, stepping into my bedroom, looking at the clothes, the bed, I felt violated. I felt like the intimacy that some parts of the house once offered to me was gone. It was then that it dawned on me that my clothes, shoes, makeup, underwear, were no longer mine to enjoy, to feel comfortable in, but were in the hands of total strangers, searched and tossed. Marco told me that I should just relax and try get back to my normal routine. Normal is when you feel safe in your house. Normal is eating breakfast with your man, kissing him as he goes off to his 9-5 job, then dropping the kids to school, then off to work or whatever. My life just wasn’t normal at this moment.
It was a few days after I returned from St. Mary and since I saw Marco. He called me daily to find out how I was doing, to check up on me as he put it. Doing fine was my only reply. Nothing else to say. The daily routine was a struggle because I just did not know what was happening. I bought another cell phone so I could get back to the business of keeping in touch. I was able to get Colin’s number and gave him a call. Being Marvin’s cousin who lived with him in London, he should be able to tell me was what was happening. Colin sounded stressed, but still managed to pull some jokes. He confirmed that Marvin was arrested, had gone to Court and was remanded in custody. Colin was not sure of the exact charges, so he claimed, but when he went to look for Marvin, he said that Marvin was ok. I explained what happened on my side of the ocean, the raid and the seizures by the police. I didn’t go into the money issues. Colin said that he was trying to get in touch with me but my number was unavailable. Police have the phone Colin. He tried his best to lighten up what was obviously a shithole of a situation, and it helped to an extent. Marvin sent his love and asked me not to worry about anything as it will soon work out. Marvin in jail. Despite it all, I was concerned about him. He was my man until we break up or worst. We had been through alot, lots of pain yeah, but many good memories. We lived together, shared a bed for several years, fought together, fucked at times, made love at other times, made up. You just dont cut off yourself emotionally from someone like that. Not overnight. The bond will still be there and the feelings will continue. My troubles seemed small compared to the thought of Marvin locked up. Colin asked me when was the last time I saw Kelly. I knew what was coming up next. The baby. Marvin JR was innocent in all of this, a child born into a complex set of circumstances. Colin didn’t say it, but knowing Marvin as well as I did, he would be fretting over the child, the thought of not seeing him again, his one and only son. Kelly was ok Colin, I saw her the other day at Thunder’s Boat Ride. I volunteered to get word to her and to see how Marvin JR was doing. Chit chat for a while then end of call.
Tired and fretful. Thats how I felt. As if someone held me and gave me several serious blows from a two by four plank. Some persons came to the house, to find out what was going on. They heard about the raid and that Marvin was in jail in London. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to all of them and Miss Marcia took care of those. Mom came by for a few days and she took care of the others. The few who I spoke to, I told them as little as possible but that Marvin was ok and should be out soon. The girls came over and tried their best to create a cheerful atmosphere. Sharon, the appointed ring leader, insisted that it was time that I left Marvin, as he was just carrying me down. She pointed out everything that took place, the rape charge, Kelly, his absence and now his arrest, and said that I should take it as a sign to move on and find a better man, a man who will be there for me, who is supportive. I listened. How could I just leave Marvin at this time, when he needed me the most? When he expected my support? Even though I was not in London, at least he would know that I was still standing by his side. If I didnt leave him because of Kelly, his treatment of me during the miscarriage, this is the time that I was going to leave him? It just didnt seemed right. As the girls went on and on, giving advice, sharing gossip, sipping their drinks, I realised that the time to make some serious decisions was on the horizon. It was fast approaching and I didnt know what I will do when it arrived.
I was in a state of flux and something had to happen. I needed information and no one was offering anything sensible at this point. Marvin’s position was that I should relax. I couldn’t. I had to do something. After a few calls I got the angry mean Superintendent of Police who led the raid on the house. He was not angry and mean this time around though. As a matter of fact, he apologised for his behaviour and blamed it on his workload. He invited me to his office to discuss things. I got ready and made my way to downtown Kingston, Central Police Station compound. I had to wait a while. Police, uniformed and plain clothes, moved up and down. Loud talking was everywhere and now and then a man in handcuffs would be led from one passage to another. One man quickly walked out of a doorway and while passing, looked at me and smiled, asking me how I was doing, still moving quickly towards the exit. About 5 officers appeared from the same doorway, jump on him, delivered couple blows and dragged him off. Apparently he was leaving his interrogation without permission. After ½ hour I was ushered into another room, to see the Superintendent. He was sitting around his desk and invited me to sit. After offering me some water, which I accepted, he asked me about Marvin. Marvin was in jail as far as I knew, so he safe. Mr. Supe said that they received certain information about guns and drugs being at the house, so that was the basis of the raid. So if that was the basis of the raid, what’s the connection with Marvin and he is in England, and has been for several months? He didnt answer that one. He just sat and stared at me. Mr. Supe, I went on, am I in some sort of trouble, should I get a lawyer, what should I do? I was in the dark. He got up and opened a cupboard, took out several sealed boxes and placed them on the desk. He called in another officer by name, who appeared and together they broke the seals and began taking out the contents. I immediately recognised them to be items seized from the house. They were in file jackets, some in plastic bags, all neatly labelled and appeared to be in some order. I saw my cellphones. No chips were in them. Replacement chips were needed. The Supe told me that the contents were processed and can now be handed over to me. He explained that I had to return the following week in order to be interviewed by some detectives. The bank cards and books were nowhere to be seen. I asked about them, he explained that they are still being processed. With that, I signed for the boxes and his fellow officer helped me to carry them to the van. As I climbed into the van, wondering what the hell could they want me for, as I had nothing to offer in any interview, the officer held the door open. “Just do as Marco say and relax, everything will work out”, and with that he shut the door and stepped off. Was he associated with Marco? How did he know that I knew Marco? How did he know that Marco told me to relax? Was he fishing for information? Did they have a tap on the phone that Marco gave me? What did the Superintendent know? So many questions, no answers. One big head splitting headache.
The phone I recently bought rang. I answered it. “You good?”, asked Marco, in his low deep tone. Probably got the number from Miss Marcia. Or whoever. Nothing surprises me about him anymore. “Just about to leave the police station. Got back most of the stuff and I am going to get a something to eat”, I replied, tired. Very tired. “Kelly missing from bout 3 days now. People just ah call her phone and it just a guh to voicemail. She not at home and no bady see her from wah day”, he said.
*Article written by Belly Bang*
It is said that our attitude towards life determines life’s attitude towards us. Esther stepped into the church wrapped in attitude, and in red. From the feathered contraption on the head, to the form hugging dress that showed every curve, crease and bulge, to the shoes that was one size too small and 2 inches too high for a woman her size. As she marched up the aisle, chin up, eyes behind the sunglasses, gum smacking between the lips, everyone looked on. What the fuck is she going to do this time was the question that was passing through my mind. Esther was not a simple woman. She know how to get any party going, how to build vibes. Definitely a crowd puller. But she was also the main attraction whenever the shit hits the fan. The church was hot, the fans weren’t helping, the humidity was rising, suits were getting uncomfortable and those in cheap material were scratching like rass. And Esther was now here. She made way to a pew ahead of me, looked at the poor man who was sitting at the end, and he immediately squeezed to the left, and she sat. When the Lord spoke about blessed are the peace makers, Esther was too busy fighting battles to let that sink in. Marco and Bumpy were seated ahead of her. They had arrived about fifteen minutes ago. Marco was in a suit, handsome, quiet, a masculine presence. Bumpy dressed in a black and white outfit. We were all requested to wear black and white as the theme shades for the funeral. I was in a simple white blouse and a short black skirt as I knew that the day was going to be long and the temperature wasn’t looking pretty based on what the weatherman on RJR said in the morning. Paul and Prince sat beside me. We travelled together in the Range as separate vehicles would have been a waste of time given the expected crowd. The girls were in my pew and Sharon was busy clicking away with the camera on her cell phone. My phones were turned off. Marco was here, Marvin was in still in jail. Didnt expect any calls, especially not during this solemn occasion. Andre Blingers, Kelly’s younger brother, was in the front pew, holding Marvin JR. Beside him were his other brothers and sisters and their parents and other family members. The family took up about four of the front pews on either side of the aisle. As Kelly’s cousin, Esther was expected to sit with the family. To think of it, it would have been better that she is up there for at least if anything should happen it would be better that her family do the restraining. The church was located along Washington Boulevard and Kelly’s parents were members there. It was capable of seating around 1500 persons and it had a balcony. When I arrived, the balcony was already jammed with those who preferred to get a good vantage point of the proceedings. Downstairs was nearly full and outside was crowded as many opted to pose and mingle on the outside instead of getting a seat. The ushers consisted of church members as well as friends of the family who had volunteered. The funeral was being recorded by several persons who had set up their equipment around the church.
Despite all that happened in the past between Marvin and Kelly, his cheating, her pregnancy, the bitchiness of her friends, the stress, shame and public scandal, I had to attend. She was in some way family, the mother of my man’s child. I learnt a long time ago that we do not carry a grudge against the dead. Gone too soon. Or is it that her time had come? Whatever it was, it was all fucked up. A number of persons from the dancehall fraternity, dancers, deejays, promoters and groupies were in attendance, but they were the minority. Looking around, I saw alot of strange faces, persons who lived “regular” lives. These regular persons were those who had not become entrapped in the dancehall lifestyle and appeared to be free from the effects of one too many hennessy mixes. Occasions like this remind us that we are but flesh and blood. Kelly was the dancehall darling, the girl who loved being in the spotlight, the girl who was present at every drum beat with a smile on the face and the swing in her hips. Reflecting, I remember the two times we met in London. She never showed me any bad face. She was ok, humble, down to earth. To think about it, I was probably the cold and wretched one. The last time I saw her at Thunder’s party, she was the one who made the approach, who was sociable. Was she trying to reach out to me? Was she really that nice a person, despite the shit?
It was the day after Marco told me that Kelly was missing that the details started emerging. Kelly left Marvin JR, her baby, with her parents. That was the Monday evening. That was not unusual. She told them that she was going to sort out something and would be back soon. Kelly left in a car, driven by someone else, no one knew who. A white tinted Toyota Corolla, just like any other non-descript vehicle. That was around 5:00 p.m. Sometime after 9:00 p.m., when she didnt show up, the parents started calling her phone. No Kelly. Midnight, no Kelly. Her phone was ringing unanswered. Soon, it was going straight to voicemail. By morning, the parents were worried. They went by her apartment, it was locked and no one answered. They called her brother, Andre. He didn’t know where she was either as he was in Negril with friends and hadn’t seen her or spoken to her since he left Kingston a few days ago. Known friends were called but no one saw her. There were reports of her being spotted in downtown Kingston the previous night. That was unconfirmed. Several anxious persons gathered at the parents home. Kelly was bright, outgoing, loved by many and known to most. She was a personality. She was missing. The Police were notified and a missing persons report made. The police went to her apartment and after forcing the door open, discovered the place ransacked. Andre Blingers returned to Kingston and joined in the search for his sister. The morgue was checked, as also police stations, hospitals, clinics, everywhere, no Kelly. Not for long though. Thirty six hours after leaving her son, Kelly was found in a shallow grave in Bull Bay. She was shot once to the back of the head. We were all stunned, shocked. I cried when I heard. I am sure that many wept. The news of her death spread quickly and soon it was in the papers, on the radio and on tv. Kelliesha Marie Pendegrast, the second to last child for Mr and Mrs Wilton Pendegrast, business operators, was dead. No suspects. Not yet. No leads. For now. Why would anyone kill her? She was not involved in any controversy that we know of. But the rumour mill got off at full speed. I did not escape it. Her involvement in Marvin and my jealousy were all raised. But that angle, along with several others quickly died down and something graver took its place. Kelly was involved in something. An investigation, an ongoing police investigation. No one knew the details. Pure hush hush. Not even the great news carrier Sharon could get any details, real or fake. Just that Kelly was involved in something serious.
The funeral was held within a week of the discovery of her body. The remains were cremated and placed in an urn for display at the church. The service moved quickly. Tributes flowed from relatives, friends and associates. After the service, we were all gathered in the parking lot and on the church grounds, chatting, remembering, catching up. From the corner of my eye I saw the red confusion making its way through the crowd, her eyes fixed on me. Jesus!! Did this mad bitch think that I had something to do with Kelly’s death. Esther’s eyes never moved from mine as she said her excuses and nudged people from her way. I was speaking to Paul when she came over and told him to make a move, which he did. This crazy ass woman was really going to make a scene on the church property? “My girl, mi have one ting fi seh to you”, she said sternly but quietly. “Mi want yuh fi be careful of di people dem inna yuh life. Dem nuh fi real, dem ah paygon. Yeah, yuh and Kelly did inna unno wrangling, but dat was that. But is wranglings and hard ears mek dem fuck her up. My gal, mi naw guh inna it. Watch yuh movements wid dem people round yuh cause ah when river still that its di most dangerous. Likkle more”. With that, she made her way into the crowd. She didnt disappear into the crowd. She was way too red, too obvious, too fat that. Esther was also known to be brutally honest. Paul returned beside me, chatting some shit, trying to discuss something to cover up his cowardice in the face of Esther’s order. What was she talking about? Esther just came up to me like some reader woman, shot off a warning and shuffled on.
Marco was now holding Marvin JR and Bumpy was beside him. Marco held the child close to his chest and seemed at ease. Kelly’s parents were talking to Bumpy and Andre was somewhere around the place. I then looked across at and saw Esther. She was staring at the Marvin JR, or was it Marco. Couldn’t tell. She looked upset. Bitter. Esther then looked at me and I could just make out that she hissed her teeth. She then walked away and headed towards the gate. Looking back at Marco, I finally confirmed that the remarkable resemblance between father and son. Marco looked at me. His fixed on me, piercing . He held Marvin JR closer and smiled.
*Article written by Belly Bang
Someone once said – Almost all of our sorrows spring out of our relations with other people. For two days, after the funeral service, I remained inside. My mind was flooded with all sorts of thoughts. Marvin JR was Marco’s son, there was no denying it. The eyes, the face, seeing them together. DNA aside, Kelly would have been the only one who could clear this thing up. But could she, if she was alive? Did she even know who the father of the child was? But that is neither here nor there because she will never be able to say. Who else suspected or knew? Did Marvin know? Why was Kelly killed? Who killed her? Only one investigation was going on that I knew of and that was Marvin’s and he was still in jail. Could he have done it? Did he suspect that he wasn’t the father? Marvin had a temper, he was fucked up when he wanted, he was capable of everything and anything. Kelly loved Marvin JR, that was for sure. Would she have done anything to rock the boat. Did she rock the boat? Marco. I didnt want to think about that. Marco was loving, thoughtful, charming. No, not Marco. After I arrived at home, after the funeral, Marco called on me on that special phone. “You alright”, he asked, concerned. But was he? I had to get a grip on things. Esther came to mind and I quickly pushed her words aside. “Have a terrible headache, lying down, chilling. Woke up this morning feeling sick and dizzysih, but that pass still, just the headache lingering”, was my reply. My ailments were true. I was alone at home as Miss Marcia had some family issues to sort out in Waterhouse and Moms was at home. Somehow I suspected that he knew this. “Want me to come over and bring anything for you?” This was the side of Marco I knew, the caring side, the side that made me feel comfortable, relaxed, special. “If you want to, but I am alright still, just need some rest”. “Ok, will check on you later”, and with that he hung up.
Kelly gone, Marvin in jail, Marco at large. Marco free. Marco running things – that is if you follow what is being said on the streets. At least that was how Sharon put it. What was there to run? Up until now I have no idea about Marvin’s business interests, if any, in Jamaica. I knew absolutely nothing about that side of him. We were together, we fought, we fucked, we wined and dines, we lived together, we shared thoughts with each other. But I didnt know how he made his money. Not from his lips. Marco was supposedly taking care of things, but what things I cannot say. Wilful blindness? Ignorance? Before, it wasn’t necessary to know, but it was surely reaching that stage where knowledge is the key, and I am locked out at this moment. Marvin called for the two days but didnt visit. Just checking up with his woman, according to one of his statements.
The Superintendent called me and asked me to attend his office. The fuckery never stops. I asked him if I needed a lawyer. He said no, just wanted us to talk about some progress in the investigations. I put on some clothes and made my way downtown. As I waited outside his office, I saw the same officer who assisted me with the boxes on my last visit. The one who reminded me to follow Marco’s advice and relax. He was in plain clothes, his gun holster on his side, smiling. He asked me how I was doing and we started talking about little things. He then said that he had to go and walked off. He then stopped and came over to me and said “Before you rush into anything just think things over and it will be ok”. I knew jack shit of what he was talking about. I was about to say something to him but he quickly walked off telling me that we will speak again soon. First Esther, now this policeman. From the other day is like pure arbitrary people telling me things and no one is coming straight. Must be the water or something. After waiting for half hour, the Supe invited me inside. There were other persons in there with him. A man who identified himself to be a worker at some department or the other in the Ministry of Finance and a white man who called himself Mr. Bartley. The Supe was sitting around his table and the men standing in a corner, looking at the both of us. First thing that came to mind was to clam up, teh second, that this thing is getting big, whatever it was. But what is there to worry about? I am not a wrongdoer. I am not hiding or have anything to hide. Plus, if I was in trouble the Supe would have told me to get a lawyer. Right? The Supe apologised for the long wait and handed me the bankbooks and cards that were taken during the raid. I thanked him very much. The Supe asked me how I was doing. Fine, just fine. He told me that for the purpose of tying up some loose ends, I would have to give a statement about the raid. No problem, what type of statement? Supe explained that the statement would basically tell all that happened, from my point of view, as to how the raid went. No problem. The white man, who had a strong British accent, handed the Supe a small folder and the Supe removed a document from it and handed it to me. I looked at it and saw that it consisted of several typed pages with my name and address at the top. Hold up. I asked the Supe what this was. He said that it was my statement. The officer in the waiting room flashed before my eyes. “Supe, before I rush into anything I would like to think things over. Will that be ok?” I asked nervously. No problem. I asked for a few days and got up. The man from the Ministry of wherever opened the door and as I stepped through, he gently removed the folder that was still in my hand. “You will get this when you return”, were his parting words as he closed the door. Ten minutes. That was how long I was in the office. I didnt get the chance to read the document. It consisted of ten pages and a space for me to sign at the end of each page. I did see Marvin’s name mentioned as I skimmed the pages. What really got me nervous though, was Colin’s name that was somewhere in it. What Colin had to do with the raid. He was Marvin’s cousin living in London, he attended college, he was jovial, fat. What did he have to do with the raid?
I drove to New Kingston. I have been having the strong urge for cheese cake since the other day. The fridge at home was now cheese cake free. Miss Marcia had made one for a church sister who did not collect it so I finished it. Never ate so much cheesecake like how I have been eating it from the other day. Well, it did happen once, not so long ago….. Fuck that, I just wanted cheese cake, just like how some people feel for jerk pork or others for ice cream. Sitting in the cafe, I got a call from Mr. Man and I told him where I was. Haven’t seen him since the funeral. Somehow I wanted to see him. I had to see him. Two days had passed. He was still mine. I was his. This man was the primetime feature in my life now and I couldn’t escape that. I didnt want to escape it. He was mine, every good, bad, mysterious, fucked up, cunning, sexy part of him belonged to me. And Bumpy. And whoever else. But he cared for me and that was all that mattered. I felt the presence behind me and the strong arms on my shoulders. The familiar cologne was subtle. Not intoxicating, not faint, just enough to announce that he had arrived. He squeezed my shoulders and then sat across from me. He ordered something to drink. We looked at each other. No words. He smiled and asked “How long you feel that we can go on like this?” Like this how? What him talking about? Me being the woman on the side, him being in an iron clad relationship with Bumpy, being the much in love family man? The disaster we call a relationship? “Till its time to stop”, was all I could say. “You want to stop now?” he said as a matter of fact. He sipped on his drink, his eyes briefly leaving me and appeared to be scanning the room. “What you coming off from Marco? Tell mi. Please. Cause yuh must be coming from off someting why yuh bringing this up. Wat now? All of a sudden you develop a conscience bout us? Yuh want me to walk away and forget that we have someting?”. I was getting upset, very upset, but not loud. “B, mi not saying dat, mi just want to know where you stand?”, calmly, still sipping on his drink. I was now upset. Too much was happening from the other day and now this.
“Where I stand? Where I stand is that both of us have something going on and if your attitude is to just turn me on and turn mi off, then might as well wi call it quits cause mi cant tek too much of this shit right now”, I tried to remain quiet. It wasn’t working. Everything was now riding my chest and I was on the verge of just bawling out, hoping and praying that the madness of the past few weeks would disappear or turn out to be a very bad dream. Marco looked at me. “B, is just that we not seeing each other as I would like. I really miss you but I not sure if you missing me. Its just that I have to think about us, if you feel comfortable, if you want to move on, back to your life with Marvin, or with Andre”. That last statement shot straight to my heart. I knew he was changing gears in his argument, but that last part just threw me off totally. Andre. I haven’t seen Andre since the funeral and he hasn’t called. Andre. “Look here, Andre and I are just on casual speaking terms. Mi nuh interested in him. Where this coming from? What Andre has to do with us?”, I demanded. “Just asking. What happen? I cant ask you anything? We cant just sit and talk, have a little going over of where we stand with each other? B, mi rate you real bad. You just wouldn’t know. I wouldn’t do anything to upset you or hurt you and I know that you feel the same way about me. Mi just talking B, just talking”, calm and soothing. He reached across and touched my hand and I squeezed his. This man had me weak. He had me in a trap and I didnt want to be free. He knew it. And he was on a mission and I just didnt care. “Lets go”, he said and got up. As we passed the cashier, I stopped to pay the bill. She waved me away, indicating the bill was already settled.
As we strolled to the car that was parked outside, I saw Frassman behind the wheel. Here I was, holding the hands of my man, my strong handsome man, my caring thoughtful man. My Marco. I was now positive that I did not glimpse the names Marco and Kelly mentioned in bold on page three of the statement that was handed to me by the Superintendent of Police.
*Article written by Belly Bang*
Someone once said – Let us not be content to wait and see what will happen, but give us the determination to make the right things happen. Marco. My Marco. We made a date and the venue was the guesthouse in St. Mary. Our first illicit hideaway. We checked in, the same room. It as romantic to me. Did he even remember that it was here that we started? Fond memories rushed back as we stepped through the door. Memories that now became my reality, again. It was the first room we slept in, that we enjoyed each other, and the moment was here again. For the rest of the evening we made love. Not anything aggressive, rushed or without feeling. Marco was in his best form yet, cool, calm, seductive and caring. He took his time, the cell phones were off, the shades closed, just him and me becoming one. There wasn’t much words, but the look that he had spelt a man on a mission of seduction and who was a master at achieving his goal. Was I being fooled again? Was he taking me for a ride? Maybe. But each time that those thoughts crossed my mind, when I began to think about distancing myself from him, my emotions took over. So what if I wanted to be used? I was enjoying it. These moments were few and far between and I had a right to be cared for, loved, even if for a few precious hours. Marco did have some feelings for me. He must have. But as I did not know how long this imperfect situation was going to last, I was living for the now, not the later. As I nestled my head on his muscled chest, his arms wrapped around me, listening to the beat of his heart, I didnt want to leave. I just didnt want the moment to end.
We didnt speak of the meeting with the Superintendent of Police, though I suspected that he knew about it, what went on, and how it ended. We didnt speak of Marvin, and his predicament, the uncertainty of his future. We spoke of little things. His leg injury and his visits to the doctor. My loneliness at home at times. The pressures of life he is facing making provision for his daughters. The fact that things are now unsettled between himself and Bumpy. They were not on any good terms. The quarrels were becoming frequent and more violent. It was not just about him though. When I looked in his eyes, as he spoke about things, I saw sadness, hurt. This was a personal side. Marco looked at me and then he changed the subject. He asked how I was doing. Not good. He gave me words of comfort, told me to just hang in there and all will be ok. I wanted to know if this was how we were going to live till it ends, hiding in order to be one with each other, him living a lie outright and being untrue to Bumpy. Me living the lie with Marvin, family and so friends. But, did Bumpy know or suspect about us? Marco was a man who would capture any woman’s heart, who was sure about himself, always looking out for the woman in his life. The women I should say. I am not sure if I was the only one. Yes there was Bumpy, but what about those who I didnt know about. Those who enjoyed him as much as I did. Those who also found peace in his loving arms. Thoughts of a jealous woman living a contradictory life. “You would hurt me”? My eyes were closed. “Wat was that”?, I was unsure that he was talking to me or on his phone. “You would hurt me”?, he asked again. I opened my eyes and say him looking at me, searching for the right answer. “Why would I do that”?, I asked, wondering where all this was coming from. “I just want to know where yuh stand right now. Just answer the question”, his eyes appearing as if searching my soul. That question was simple, yet loaded. “No, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you”. He said nothing else.
I was at home going through some papers when the cell rang and I answered it. It was Andre Blingers. I hung up. He called back. “Why you treating me suh”?, he whined, almost child like. “Andre, wat yuh want”?, I was tired and had no time for games. “You. I want you. All of you. Nothing but you”, the presumptuous bwoy replied. Drunk maybe, annoying right now. “Little boy, you know that it would never work between us, that it would never happen, so just cool yuhself”. “Not because di big man control yuh mean seh yuh fi just shut yuh eye to everybody else”. “Andre, Marvin is ma man yes but him nuh control me, after me ah nuh property”, I had to interject. “But is not Marvin mi ah talk. Mi ah talk di real big man from down suh, Marco”. I stopped. How the hell did he know? Or was he bluffing? What did he know? “Nuh badda gwaan like seh yuh and the big man naw roll. But its all good still. Just haffi try put in a word fi myself”. “Wat you know bout me & Marco? Yuh know nothing cause there is nothing to know”, I was angry at his remarks. “Mi nuh call fi talk bout the big man, is you mi ah deal wid right yah….”. Click. I hung up. Then locked off the phone. I didnt want to hear anything more. Didnt want to think about it.
Having had the books and cards returned to me, I visited the banks in order to sort out my finances. Those accounts that were held by me were accessible but those held jointly with Marvin were unavailable. Something is still better than nothing. The Superintendent called me and asked me if I finished thinking over whatever it was I was considering and I told him that I needed more time. He didnt sound pleased but said that he would call me in the morning. Time was running out. I couldn’t hold out forever and I had to make some sound decisions. I made a beeline to the lawyer’s office, the one who had the case when Marvin was arrested for rape. He was in. I had to wait for a while. I explained the situation to him. Everything from Marvin’s arrest, the raid, straight to the last meeting at the police station. He made a few calls and soon I found myself in a meeting with two lawyers. I went into some detail about my situation, the history with myself and Marvin, carefully leaving out Marco’s name. I didnt feel that was important, not at this. There were gaps in my story and they pointed it out to me. Marvin’s finances, how the house and vehicles were acquired, the source of my income. But, in relation to the statement, whatever the contents, I was advised not to sign. Furthermore, they concluded that the government had on interest in me and Marvin’s arrangements and how we sourced our income. Big words were used, long explanations, one conclusion. I was in some fucking trouble and I had to face it as there was still more to come. Money. The cost to retain their services was bordering on extortion. My head hurt. I thought of going about this alone. I could not see myself giving so much to these men at this time. I got up but retook my seat when I thought of the possibility of losing everything, of putting Marvin in greater problems, in perhaps facing the law myself based on some things the lawyers explained. I was up shit creek without a paddle and professional help was my only hope. When I walked out the office, I was much much poorer, had two lawyers getting to work on my predicament and was looking on a future of home cooking and cable TV.
I called Marco and told him. Couldnt be bothered with the cloak and dagger business. He listened, I gave him the names of the lawyers, he asked a few questions and he got his answers. I didnt tell him about what I saw, or thought I saw, in the document that was shown to me by the police. Marco asked me if I spoke to Marvin about all this. Nope. Did not and could not as he was still in lock down the last time I checked. On my way home, I had to make a stop. I dont know why, but I had to go and see them. I was kinda like family and I had to show some interest. I pulled up to the house and saw a number of vehicles parked along the roadway as also in the yard. He was on the driveway speaking to s few people. I introduced myself and he seemed happy to see me. He remembered me from the funeral. Wilton Pendegrast was still a pleasant man. He called his wife and she came outside with Marvin JR in her arms. I looked at the child and she offered him to me to hold. I took him gingerly, and looked in his handsome face. He looked at up at me, his stepmom of sorts, and held my blouse and laughed. I was invited inside. Apparently they were having a small gathering or something as I saw food and drinks laid out on under a tent on the front lawn. Whatever it was, it appeared to be catered. Several persons were milling around, young and old, and music was playing. Mr. Pendegrast explained that one of his daughters was having a social before she departed for school in the United States. I was left to my own way with Marvin JR and made my way through the house, exchanging hellos as I went through. I knew he was here, but I wasn’t here for him. I was here to see the little one. On the back porch, drinking beer and chatting with the ladies was Andre. But that wasn’t what held my interest. Under a tree to the back of the yard, seated by a table were Marco and Frassman.
Is it better to be told a hurtful truth than a comforting lie? You tell me. Kelly and Marco were involved once. They rolled in the same group with Marvin. They all kept in touch with each other. That I knew. I am almost certain that Marco was Marvin JR’s father. Marco would know Kelly’s brother Andre Blingers and more than likely her family. But I was still surprised to see him here. He was talking to Frassman, but his eyes moving from person to person in the backyard, until he settled on me. Andre came over and gave me a hug, Marvin JR between us in my arms, and thanked me for turning up. “You didnt invite me”, I said. “You never gave me a chance to, you just hang up on me”, he whispered, a beer in one hand, the other playing with the child. Marco raised his chin, a signal for me to come over, which I did, politely excusing myself from the older child’s company. Frassman gave me his seat and stood a distance away from us. “Never knew you and Kelly’s family were close”, Marco said, taking Marvin JR from my arms and nestling him in his own. “I am not really close with them, just passed by to find out how them doing, how Marvin JR was”. “You always looking out for people, thats the thing about you. Kelly did tell me that all when she meet you in London, you never show her nuh bad face or rush her or anything. She did give you yuh ratings”, he said while playing with the boy. “So you are here for”? I had to know. “Kelly parents asked me to come over, cause since she aint around, Marvin aint around and I am the godfather for his son”. My son he should have said. Andre was the centre of attraction in his circle and now and then he looked in our direction. He looked uneasy at those times, a bit worried for the second or two that he looked at us, then back to his usual self with the ladies. “So you know Andre long time then”, I asked. “Like a brother”, dryly. There was a change when I mentioned Andre’s name. Uncertain territory, but I wanted to go there. “So….”, I was immediately cut off. “Drop it and dont spoil the day. Enjoy yuhself and easy”, emotionless, barely above a whisper. I didnt push it. Marvin JR was now holding Marco’s hand, playing with a ring, innocent to the world that exists around him.
The days after the visit to Kelly’s parents home were busy. The search for documents, visits to the lawyer office, giving several statements to the lawyer, avoiding the calls from the Superintendent, ignoring Andre’s calls, all took up my time. I wanted to do something. Anything. Maybe it had to do with Marvin’s absence. Strange as it may seem, but I often wonder about him, how he was doing, how he was being treated. I could not be ungrateful, as the times with him were not all that bad. Or maybe I wanted to relieve the stress that sat like a blanket over my life in recent times. Whatever it was, I needed to do something. A night on the town. I spoke to the girls and they all agreed. Its been a long time that I haven’t enjoyed a Girls Night Out Friday. Our ritual night on the town was disrupted due to all sort of things that cropped up and there was no better time than now to try and bring back some order. Marco was busy recently, sorting out stuff he said. I asked him how he and Bumpy were getting along and he said not so good. Didnt press him for any further information. The Friday came and the plan was to meet at a sistren’s bar along Molynes Road for a start up drink. I didnt put much fuss in terms of preparation, combed the hair, pulled a little black dress and some heels, and grabbed a handbag with some funds. Miss Marcia was having a prayer meeting with her church sisters at the house and they had it to themselves. Moms and Marvin’s mother were joining them. I arrived at Marvette’s Bar and the place was swinging. This was the type of place where the older men drank white rum and water while their younger, much younger girlfriends drank Sangster’s Rum Cream and giggled and made them feel good. Marvette has been around like from eternity and she was also a fixture on the dancehall scene, going to most of the major parties and events. She was at the bar that night, serving drinks, watching her bartenders, making her patrons feel relaxed. Marvette was there with me and Marvin from the beginning and though she warned me about rushing into things with him, she was still supportive of what she called ‘young people tings’. She came around the counter and hugged me, remarking that I was keeping up good despite the challenges. She knew about Marvin’s status. Everyone knew now. It wasn’t a secret and I had to just live with it as each day went by. Sharon was at the counter, the other girls hadn’t arrived as yet. We had a mixed vodka drink and moved on, telling the girls to meet us on the road. Our next stop was The Quad in New Kingston. Early hours yet, it was fairly empty, but the music was pumping and that was all that mattered. The other girls joined us and soon we were having a wonderful time. Drinking, dancing and laughing away at some jokes, the dance floor soon got packed with mostly the younger set and teenagers.
I felt a hand holding unto my arm and when I looked around I saw Bumpy. She was dropping the T-shirt and jeans look. I looked around for Marco but he was nowhere in sight. “Hey, wats up girl” , I shouted as the music blared away. “Mi want chat to yuh”, she grunted. I then stopped moving and noticed that she didnt look pleased. As if something was troubling her. Rass. Rass Rass. Not tonight please. The girls were enjoying themselves, they hailed up Bumpy. She stepped off towards the exit and I followed. I didnt know what to expect. I didnt want to get into a quarrel with her. On the corridor she stopped and got straight to the point. “Mi hear seh yuh and Marco deh, ah true”? More a statement than a question. “Marco and I are just friends”, I tried to keep eye contact as they say that when you lie you dont want to look in people’s eyes. Right. “All yuh ah chat seh bout friends. Friends fuck friends and as far as me ah put it together dat ah wah ah gwaan wid di two ah unno. Yuh know how much stress mi under wid dah man deh? Yuh know how far wi ah come from? Yuh have yuh man and him gone a jail and yuh mek up yuh mind fi come fuck wid the one man weh mi have”, she paused. “Me and Marco nuh deh, we are just friends…….”. Before I could finish she grabbed me in the chest and said “gal if yuh open yuh mout one more time mi fuck yuh up in yah and guh a prison easily, cause ah desso this bloodclawt ah guh end up since yuh ah tek mi fi fool”. Before she could continue I grabbed her hand and pushed her against the wall. She looked surprised. I was surprised. People were passing looking at us I stepped back, readying for her next move, knowing that this was going to get fucking nasty. She moved towards me and I braced her off again. She stopped . Her face looked hard. Serious. “My girl, mi nuh want flog yuh in yah tinite. Mi never see yuh and Marco together yet. Mi nuh have nuh proof, mi just ah hear tings and it ah badda me. From week we nuh chat, him naw tek nuh call from me, him just come in and sleep and change and guh bout him business. Hear mi out. Just leave him and mek we sort out wi problems. For a peaceful future, mi ah beg yuh, leave mi man alone if yuh and him inna someting”, she sounded calmer, focused. Dangerous. “I am not fooling around Marco”, was all I could say, in as brazen a voice as I could muster, then stepped off towards the dance floor.
It was now official. I was the other woman in Marco’s life and Bumpy knew it. You know what. It maybe strange to you all, but I felt relieved. I dont know why and I couldn’t explain it, but I felt like a burden was lifted off my shoulder. The hiding, the lies, the dodging, it was too much. It will still be there but at least both women in the picture have had their run ins. Despite the denial, the anger, the assault that took place, as women we knew that the game was officially on now. How it would end no one knows. I saw her reaction, heard her threats, saw her face, I had an idea of who I was dealing with now. Before I didnt. What about Marvin? Marvin. He might hear, who to tell. But I didnt know how I was going to deal with that. That was a bridge I definitely didnt want to cross if I reached it. Or when I reached it. The girls were dancing away and I made myself another drink, a stronger drink and joined them. Bumpy came over, she made a Dragon Stout bottle in her hand, one in the back pocket. She them stood there, gently rocking away, bottle in hand, taking some gulps from it, looking around, looking at me. While everyone was moving to the beat, she appeared to be moving to the music that was playing in her head. The girls didnt know what took place. I had no intention of telling them. I was focused on this mad bitch who looked ready to beat my ass into yesterday. I saw the phone light up, and knew it was him. I didnt want to answer. Plus, in the Club, it was impossible to hear anything. With Bumpy nearby, practically beside me, it would be foolish to do so. For several minutes there were several calls from him. I didnt answer. I looked around and there was no Bumpy. I looked in the crowd, wondering if she had left. Nowhere in sight.
“She tell me”, his deep voice said. “So wat now, now that she know or suspect, wat is the next step”? I was in my bed, sleep was killing me, but I had to hear him respond to that. “Its up to you. As far as me concerned, nothing nuh change, same fi di same”. “So that is it’?, I asked, just so, after all that, its same as usual. “Anyway, mi ah guh back inside now cause mi know she up and waiting for me. Tomorrow, or later”, he stated oh so simply. He was taking this shit way too well. The call ended. I then read the six text messages Andre sent to my other phone.
*Article written by Belly Bang*… any publishers out there??
Andre wanted to talk to me in person and I was having none of that. His several text messages asked me to give him a chance. For us to know each other better. For what? My life was complicated as it was without him in it. He kept sending me his text of “hello, we need to talk” and my replies were always “kip outta mi life”. He was insistent. Well, I must admit that I had nothing to lose by just listening to him. Just one little sit down, somewhere in public, but out of the way. He wasn’t a bad looking fellow. Young, pushy maybe, annoying. Dont get me wrong, mi nuh interested in him fi fuck him much less fi see what he was packing. No way. He didnt move me that way. Yet. But, he was Kelly’s brother and the two of them cut off the same branch. Trouble.
Marco said that he did what he had to do to survive. He had done things that he was ashamed of but that was in the past. Everything now was geared towards survival. Survival in the urban jungle of Kingston. Survival in a system that was created to work against him. Survival for his daughters. He was not without feelings. He was hurting badly due to the ongoing conflict between himself and Bumpy that had now taken a turn for the worst. So said Marco, and he continued. Last night Bumpy confronted him about his late nights, his phone calls that he made outside of the house. Marco had no set hours and since forever he made a decision not to speak “bizness” in the house. She knew that. What was the problem all of a sudden? He had started sleeping on the couch. Bumpy wanted him to fess up to something. She was talking loud, aggressive. He sat still on the bed in their two bedroom house in White Wing, off Olympic Way. He knew where this was going. Had he been there before I thought? Did Bumpy have to go through this in relation to another woman, before I became his current fixation? These things I asked in my mind as he continued to tell me his version of what took place. She had locked the bedroom door and threw the key under the bed. Bumpy wanted his attention and he was not going anywhere. After all, after so many years together Bumpy knew him by nature – so I thought. I could picture it, the quarrel, then he would pick up his cell phones and leave, returning several hours later or even a day or so. But, not for me to interrupt him. When he couldn’t take the bickering, the accusations, the bad words, he asked her what was her problem, why she dont just calm herself and stop the noise. She stood before him, blocking the TV and he eased her out the way, a gentle push to the side. That was it. She grabbed him up and started thumping him in the side of his face. By time the third blow fell, Marco was up, holding her small frame and pushed her on the bed. He used his ratchet knife to force the lock and the door opened. She was on the bed crying and screaming at him. He took up a shirt, tucked his gun in the back of his jeans waist and left.
And here he was, beside me, in bed. He had called me, asking me where I was. I was at home. He wanted to see me, for us to talk for a while. I knew what that meant. I took a shower, pulled on a jeans and a blouse. Miss Marcia was sleeping and the gardener who was doing some work for the past few days was in the living quarters above the garage. No one was up as I left the house. We met at a small guesthouse just off Hagley Park Road. Strike that, fuck shop off Hagley Park Road. Call it what it is. Though security was tight there, the place was built for discretion. I went to the room he said he was in. He was in his boxers. I wanted him as much as he wanted me. For close to an hour we fucked, rolling around on the bed, sometimes on the floor and even in the bathroom. It was an adventure in hedonism and we were willing. Now, tired but free of the tension that had built up since our last encounter, we lay in the bed talking. I asked him. I had to ask. His reply. “Kelly. Wat bout Kelly? Wat she have to do wit wat wi deh yah ah talk bout? Mi done know wat yuh ah pree from long time. Me and Kelly did deh. You know dat. Everybody did know dat. Me and Kelly was still frens and mi did rate her”. He took up the TV remote and clicked to a channel. He was getting pissed. I had to ask the other question. “Wat about Marvin JR”? For a second I saw his eyes narrow and his face harden, just for a split second. I was sure it was there. But then I blinked and saw his smile, his clear eyes and felt his kiss. “Just cool and everything will be alright”. “How you know? Wat you know about the future”? I said, turning my head away from him. He then got up and headed to the shower. As he stood at the bathroom door, flexing his chest muscles, the fucking show off that he was, I realised that this man had a dangerous hold on me and I felt like that I could not do anything about it.
Marco was staying by some relative house in Meadowbrook. This was until him and Bumpy sort out the multiple issues. He was still in White Wing most days but he just didnt sleep there. I asked him if Bumpy ever visited him in Meadowbrook, he said nope. He saw her at the White Wing home, they still speak, but she had no reason to come and look for him where he was. He wanted his space. It was a aunt he was staying with, a lady with a big government job. She called him Marky. The first time he asked me to come and look for him there, I met her. An older woman, who seemed friendly enough. She complained bitterly about Marky not wanting to move out of the inner city and away from his job as a supervisor at the wholesale. What wholesale? Marco looked at me and smiled. I just kept sipping the lemonade that she offered. I learnt that Marco’s two daughters would visit this aunt during the summer vacations and she was very fond of them. She made no mention of Bumpy. Not even a hint as to her existence. She asked me if I was involved with her nephew. I said no, we were just friends. She laughed and said that if we were ever to get together, Marco and I would make a good match.
Frassman would pick up Marco at the house and they would do their rounds. That was their routine. Marco left the X5 at the aunt’s house, saying that he was giving it a rest for a while. Some nights we went out, no where special, sometimes for a drive. Sometimes Frassman drove. Sometimes Marvin drove, leaving Frassman free to do whatever people like Frassman do when they are not playing the role of handbag. We would take in a movie. Go to a play. One night Marco even suggested that we go to the Little Theatre to watch Pantomime. Funny how versatile the man was. Who would have thought it. Big bad mysterious ghetto personality going to Pantomime. That night Frassman came along, but stayed outside in the parking lot. Yep. We did have our special moments alone. Just the two of us. But it was getting tiresome. It was nice being alone with him. Fuck nice, I felt damn good. The tiresome part was that in order for us to have those special moments, it was always a guesthouse. My house was out of the question. His house was not even a consideration. I was still supposed to be with you know who, who is you know where, and who I haven’t been able to speak with since God knows when. Guesthouse or fuck shop sex is exhilarating, gets the heart racing, but that can only be for a while. Once it becomes a routine, when you become comfortable with the man, and that bond is supposed to be there, then you realise that it starts to be uncomfortable, unsettling, just not being the right setting anymore. Can it be helped? Nope. But it still rass uncomfortable. I wanted to raise the topic with Marco. But for what purpose? Were we to move in with each other? Were we to get a house or apartment to be used for fucking. He had a life, a life I knew little about. I had my problems, law enforcement, Marvin and otherwise. What if I brought up the subject and it seemed as if I was pressuring him. He wasn’t pressuring me about Marvin. Never once did he tell me to chose. Maybe its better that I should just let things flow as they are, living one day at a time, for now.
We were at a football match in Mona. Some team or the other was playing Marco and his colleagues. It was raining before so there was mud everywhere. Many spectators were there. The girls had called and asked where I was. They wanted to know what was happening later on. It was a Friday. I totally forgot that it was also Sharon’s birthday. I was in Portland was my response. I will soon be in. Lying. Lying since I have been with Marco no longer left a guilty feeling. It was now part of me. I was on the phone. From the corner of my eye I saw Frassman looking towards the parking area. He was seated beside me. Some of Marco’s associates were seated with us. I didnt really know that to talk to them, but birds of a feather and all that. Frassman was still looking towards the parking area and I decided to look. Bumpy was walking towards the other side of the field. She was not alone. Esther, Kelly’s cousin, the fucking mad bitch with a mouth that runs faster than Bolt, was talking about something, waving her hands. I had the phone to my ears. Esther looked in my direction. The players were between us. Bumpy looked in my direction.
Andre Blingers, who was with them, was staring right at me.
*Article written by Belly Bang*
CONFESSIONS 23
Video # 1
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Marco kept on playing, moving effortlessly on the field. Football was like second nature to him. Like making kissing, making love. His strong legs moved quickly as he shouted to others on the field, giving directions. Andre looked at me, then looked at Esther and Bumpy, and I could just make out the look of surprise on his face. Frassman held unto my hand and squeezed it, his eyes looking at what was playing out off the field, while the other spectators were glued to the events on the field. I still had the cell phone to my ear, though the call had finished. Marco passed the ball to a team mate. Bumpy started moving towards us, coming around the field. Esther and Andre stood their ground. A goal was scored and Marco and his team jumped and shouted. The first goal for the match, hard won and well deserved. Bumpy started walking quickly. Frassman was looking at her. Andre stood as if his feet were planted in cement and Esther seemed to be watching with a level of calm amusement. The match was now over. As Bumpy reached a few feet away from us, Marco ran over and hugged her from behind and held unto her, in a playful manner. She tried to get out his grasp, but it was impossible. His hold was firm and appeared to be getting tighter. He still had a huge smile on his face. His eyes had narrowed and grown dark. Bumpy tried her best to get away from him, struggling. Marco held up his head and was smiling at those around him. Everyone was happy. A match well played. They didnt know what was taking place in the midst of their joy. A look of immense pain came over Bumpy’s face as Marco’s embrace, which seemed loving to others, got tighter. He whispered something in her ears and I could see the tears roll down her face. She stopped struggling. She was quietly sobbing, now limp in his arms. Marco still had a smile on his face and as he held her from behind, anyone looking on would see a man and his woman, rocking away in a loving embrace. But for the tears. Frassman got up and walked over to them. Some of the spectators who were seated around me were looking on, speaking in low tones. I wasn’t listening. Marco released Bumpy, turned her around and held up her chin and said something. She nodded and walked away, Frassman beside her. Marco’s team mates joined him and they started talking about the match. Marco didnt seem annoyed one bit. He handled the situation without any drama. I was happy that this turned out for the better this time. A public brawl was something that was not on my agenda, especially one with the mother of my lover’s children. Lover. It sounded so romantic. But this was no romance novel. This was reality. And it was about to get even more eventful.
Frassman and Bumpy walked towards the parking area. People started leaving. Marco walked over the field to Andre and Esther. Nice, calm, easy like a Sunday evening stroll walk. I picked up his bag that was at my feet and walked in the same direction. Esther stood firmly as Marco approached. He slowly walked pass her and went straight to Andre who was now stepping backwards. Andre turned around to run and Marco sprinted and caught him by the shirt collar before he could get far, right at the edge of the field by some trees. I was trying to get over there before Marco did something stupid. I could only see his back and Andre was before him, but looking in my direction. Andre was saying something. I couldn’t hear. I just saw Marco’s hand rise and fall several times and as I reached closer I heard Andre saying “Mi never know!!! Mi never know!!! She just call mi an beg mi carry her go one match an seh she ah guh pick up her fren. When mi tek a check it ah Bumpy she did ah guh fah”. As a fist connected with him, cant tell which part, he bawled out and I too cried out to Marco, “Yuh ah guh kill him”? The four of us were alone on this side of the field and the commotion would only have been noticed by someone on the other side of the field who was paying close attention. I dropped the bag and ran up to Marco and held his arm. He didnt bring it down this time. “Watch yuhself”, was all he said to Andre as he let him go and walked off. Andre face was bruised and his lips and forehead were bleeding. He looked frightened and wasn’t saying anything. Esther came over and said “Mi never know seh all ah dem yah sinting yah woulda gwaan enuh. Look wat dat fucker do to yuh”. “Yuh know dat me and the man not into anyting and yet yuh insist and carrying me hear”, Andre managed to say, spitting some blood on the ground. “Him nuh have no right fi do dis to yuh my yute and mi never know dat he was here. Mi did hear bout da football match an yuh know how mi love football”. With that she walked off, calling to someone on the other end of the field. The sky became cloudy and thunder began to roll.
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I picked up Marco’s heavy bag. Andre, in all his pain, took it from me. We both walked towards the parking area. “Let mi talk to Marco cause him never have to behave suh with yuh”, I pleaded. I really felt sorry for him. “Please, just leave it alone and dont seh ah word to him”, Andre barely said. When I reached my van, Andre placed the bag on the back seat. Frassman was nowhere to be seen. Bumpy was gone too. Marco was talking to some men from White Wing, cracking jokes and doing what macho men do after football matches like these. Idle chat. Cuss bad word. Loud laughter. Acting as if nothing happened. Andre went over to a car and drove off. I sat in the van. Too much. This was getting way too much now. But what to expect. These situations come with men such as Marco. I reclined the seat and closed my eyes, playing over the scene again and again in my head. I must have fallen asleep. “Move over”. I opened my eyes and Marco had the door open. I moved over to the passenger side. He came in the van and drove. “Marco, yuh know that never call for still”. No reply. He got on his phone and made a call. He just said ok as the person on the other end answered and hung up. Looking at him, I realised it was better that I kept my mouth shut. We were driving through Half Way Tree heading towards Hagley Park Road when he finally spoke. “Di next time yuh see something happening, walk the next way”. The way he said it and so long after I spoke to him, it took me a few seconds to realise that he was talking to me. “But Marco, yuh nuh easy, wat yuh mean by……”, I was cut short by his hand quickly reaching across and grabbing me in the face. He held it tightly then roughly pushed my head into the headrest. I was shocked. He said nothing. “So yuh start beat woman now?”, I asked him as tears formed in my eyes. He reached across again but this time I was faster, moving away and squeezing against the passenger door. He grabbed my blouse and pulled. I hit his hand but he didnt let go. He was still driving, his eyes on the road. He let go of me. I remained squeezed against the door, watching and waiting for his next move, whatever that was going to be. He drove unto Mahoe Drive, just above White Wing and stopped. He took his bag out of the back and opened the door. “Call yuh later” he said. Then he jumped out and shut the door. He went over to a zinc gate and pushed it and disappeared. Just like that. I went behind the wheel and drove. I called him. He answered after the first ring. “Wassup”. Just like that. Like nothing never happen. This man come in like him bipolar, sick. Split personality. His voice did not show any sign of the stress of today’s events. “Marco, wat really ah gwaan?”, I had to get soem answer, any answer at his behaviour. “Wat yuh mean by wat really ah gwaan? Mi ah guh home”, just so. Home. A simple word yet its use was clear as day. He was still a family man. A man with responsibilities. A man who had a home. A woman. His woman. “Marco…”, I started. “Yow, mi cant bother wid nuh long talk talk right yah now. Mi have someting to look about and this can wait till later. Mi will call yuh”, and with that he hung up.
I called Andre. I had to find out how he was doing. “Hello”? he answered, sounding a bit cautious, frightened. “Its me, just calling to find out how you doing”. “I am cool, by the doctor”, he sounded better now, relaxed. “Where are you?”. “By Red Hills Road, the doctor office near Sugar & Spice”. “I know it”. I knew it well. That was my doctor’s office. The same office where Paul came and played the role of the baby daddy. Silence. I was now driving along Molynes Road heading towards Washington Boulevard in the direction of Red Hills Road. I was still connected. Not saying anything. “So you coming to look for me”? “Maybe. You want anything to drink”. He told me what he wanted and I stopped by the gas station. The mighty Andre Blingers. What a sight. The bleeding had stopped but the face was now puffy and black and blue. He had changed his shirt and he had started undoing his corn rows. Andre looked like the little boy he actually was, especially now that he was on the receiving end of several blows. “Wat ah mess ehh”, was all he could say. Yup. It sure was. My mind ran back to Marco and his erratic and uncontrollable behaviour today. I started to wonder what he was doing at that moment. After all, Bumpy was still his woman, for better or for worst. “Is like you made the right choice. Cause yuh see dat mi cant fight now”, he chuckled. “Yuh just was in the wrong place at the wrong time, dats all”, was all I could say. The nurse called his name and he went inside the doctor’s office. As I sat there I realised that he had left his phone behind. His phone. I wonder what would have happened if Marco saw all those text messages that he had sent to me, or worst, that I replied. My replies were innocent enough, that could be explained, I hoped. I took up the phone and held it in my hand. It rang. I looked at the screen and saw “Private Number calling”. The phone rang and then apparently went to voicemail. It rang again. Then stopped. The phone rang again and again. I let it ring out, putting it on silent. Didnt want to disturb anyone in the waiting area. The screen lit up and I saw “Bumpy calling”. Bumpy? No way. It couldn’t be. No way in rass hell. But then again, Andre might not be a fighter, but he was slick. Too slick. Bumpy was even slicker than I thought. I had to make sure it was her. I just had to. It wasn’t my phone, wasn’t my business. But then again it was. I wasn’t going to let her hear my voice. I just wanted to hear hers. To know whether it was her. I just had to know. I stepped outside and brought up the information on the screen and pressed return call. I heard a constant busy tone. I tried again and the call went to voicemail. I called again and this time someone answered.
It was spoke clear but in a low unmistakeable tone. As it spoke, telling what was going to happen, a chill ran down my spine. Someone cannot be so cold. Murderous. What was spoken was clear. And I knew that the person was capable of doing what he said he was going to do. I had my suspicions before. The signs were there. I just chose to ignore them. Now I knew from his own lips that he was not a simple man. Marco was not a simple man at all.
I kept myself busy over the next few days. Miss Marcia and I organised a general house cleaning and furniture rearranging. The vehicles were taken for servicing. I drove to May Pen to look for some relatives. Looked for some friends in Mandeville and Santa Cruz also. Had a few lunch sessions with the girls. Dinner too. Anything to keep me active and about. The girls were glad for the extra time we were spending together. Sharon told us that she had a new man in her life. She didnt want to call his name, saying that she will introduce him to us very soon. She was happy and that was good. Less time for fuckery. She said that the relationship was awkward at first. But, after the few kinks were worked out, it was good to go. No name. That too was a secret till we were all introduced to this mystery man. Paul and Prince apparently were passing through some rough times. I went by the used car dealership to look for Paul. Between the clients, the workers, giving directions here and there, he somehow managed to ask me for my advice. Get a woman and make peace with God was my response. The man thing was not working out and I am the best person to tell him that. He laughed. Well, he was happy by time we finished speaking. Colin, Marvin’s cousin in London, called me one night. I had just returned home from a full day of doing absolutely nothing important and was in bed fumbling with the TV remote. He said that Marvin sent his love, that being remanded in Her Majesty’s Prison was a bitch and that he missed me. I suppose that a cornered man will say anything. But, strange enough, if I searched in the deep recesses of my heart, I kinda missed him – now and then. Colin asked about Marvin JR and I told him about my visit. Little man was doing good. I didnt go into all the details. But the most interesting part of the conversation was when Colin told me that he will be coming to Jamaica for a few days to sort out some business for Marvin. Two weeks time to be exact. Of course he could stay by the house. It was big enough, he was after all family and he treated me kindly while I was in London.
Andre called me daily. He was off the medication and getting better. The swellings had gone down. His humour was back. His flirting was constant. I found myself slowly but surely tolerating his calls. He wanted to find out how I was doing, who I was doing it with and if I could give him a chance. My reply was the same – I was surviving, alone and only if hell froze over, twice. Andre refused to give up. That was his problem. My immediate problem, my only real problem now was Marco. At first I didnt take his calls on that phone he gave me. I just wanted to avoid him. At the same time I knew that he was as much a part of my life and dealing with him is will always be a reality. Then Frassman called. It was the first time that he has ever done that. I wasn’t even sure it was him, until he identified himself. In a matter of fact tone he said “Di big man seh yuh fi ansa him call”. I got the message. Marco knew and I had a choice. What would I tell him? What did I tell him. I had a lot of things to concentrate on, been busy, phone chipping in and out, family issues. “Why the attitude?”, dismissing everything I had to say. I was in traffic heading home on a rainy Wednesday evening. “There is no attitude, just dat my mind aint here these days”, keeping it civilised, in a lying kind of way. “You still vex bout wat go on up by Mona, dont it?”, low tone, trying his best to probe, to get an angle on what was on my mind. “Well, you nearly beat the crap out of me after that so I really dont know wat to expect from yuh”, and that was the truth. “Dont exaggerate. Do better than that. I hold on to yuh. Cause yuh refuse to chill. No beating never go on, except with your little boyfriend”. And that was what really got my heart racing. “Andre is not my boyfriend”, I quickly responded. “Him nuh suppose to be. Is one man yuh have and that is me. No one else. Not even Marvin. Me. So with all dat going on, dont fuck yuhself and slip, OK”? Was he waiting on an answer? Should I get into an argument with him. Did he know that I visited Andre at the doctor ? This was the first time that he has ever dismissed Marvin out of my life. We had never discussed it before. It was something that just fell through the cracks, that wasn’t noticed or discussed. Marvin was therein England. Marco was here and I was here and that was all that mattered, up until now. I couldn’t find anything to say. “So you and Marvin finish”? First he made the statement now he wanted me to answer the question that he already answered. Now I was getting upset. “How me and Marvin fi finish, under these circumstances? Marvin put me where I am whether I like it or not. I cant play ungrateful. And there is your Bumpy and your children. The only we I see happening now dont look good”. “So what them have to do with us”? How the fuck can he ask something like that. “Everyting! Dem have everyting to do with me , you, how we eat, drink, sleep and fuck. Yuh nuh see that the woman naw let yuh go. And you naw let her go either. The two of unno deserve each other as far as I see it”, truth mixed with jealousy and frustration. “How you know dat we naw leff”? That probing voice again. “I know. With all you talking about staying up by aunt and all that, you naw leave Bumpy and I will leave it at that”.
But it cant be left at that. It wasn’t that simple. Marco’s words rang clearly in my head, even after so many days. He didnt sound upset when I answered Andre’s phone, when I expected it to be Bumpy. I didnt say a word as he spoke in a low level tone. “Pussy. Mi tell yuh already seh yuh ah fuck yuhself. Look how mi grow yuh and show yuh certain tings. And yuh just nuh want tek nuh talk. Just like yuh hard ears big hole sister. She did get fi her length and yuh ah guh get the same”. Then the call was disconnected. Given the situation it may have been the words of a jealous husband. But somehow, something just not sitting right. And the talk about Kelly’s death. Something wasn’t right. My instinct told me that Andre knew about his sister’s murder that he was letting on. It was then that I began to think that all that was happening in recent times, Marco, Marvin, Andre, Kelly, everything, was somehow connected.
Article written by : Belly Bang
The Superintendent of Police paid me a visit at 7:00 in the morning. He was alone. He pressed the buzzer and I let him in. We sat on the balcony and Miss Marcia offered him something to drink. He requested a cold Heineken. He looked tired. Frustrated. But he went straight to the point. One last shot at the target. My lawyers were giving the ‘authorities” a run around and time was of the essence. The paper work to be signed was needed to ‘clear up’ some outstanding issues and all it needed was my signature. I was stalling the process. To show some good faith on their part, the ‘authorities’ had unfrozen two bank accounts that I held with Marvin, so there was access to those. But one in particular was being ‘monitored’ and I would not be able to get anything from that one. It didnt matter to me cause I never had any reason to transact business on it anyway. Am I in trouble, was all I wanted to know. “Should you be in trouble? You dont seem to fully understand the type of people who you have around you. That I realise. However, I see that you have enough sense to know that you have no control over the machinery that is operating around you. Marvin, Kelly and many others, the whole five yards, down to your special friend Marco are part of one big enterprise. Kelly is just a memory now, but still an important part of the machinery. Just sign the papers and all will be settled”. Food for thought. Made no sense denying, arguing, or questioning the whys and hows. He was the police. They have their resources and sources. But then again, he may not have everything neatly packaged. He came alone, early in the morning, trying to convince me to drop my signature. The machinery was not working how everyone expected. Thats a good sign, a plus for me. I think I will take my chances as it was. I politely told him that I was not interested and that if he wanted any further information or meetings he should contact the lawyers. After all, they were being paid a shit load of money to sort out whatever it was that was happening. I followed him to the gate and waved him goodbye. Good man, bad man, who to tell. But my signature not getting mixed up in shit that I have no clue about.
Andre called me as usual. He wanted to come over. Nope. He laughed. He wanted to know if I would be going to the Spenders Ball that was being held at Pilly Blacks Plaza that night. Maybe. Didnt want to get his hopes up that I would be going there to see him. Sharon called and confirmed that it was on for the night. The Spenders Ball was another of a long string of must go to events. Even when your body is tired, when you have been to the other important events on the dancehall calendar, the Spenders Ball must be supported. But the venue is along Olympic Way, Waterhouse, several blocks from White Wing. One easy bicycle ride for Bumpy and her trusty ratchet knife. Hmm. Sharon’s new man was expected to attend. That was a good enough reason to go. Bumpy wouldn’t be crazy to try some shit at an event like that. Clothes. What to wear? No idea. I sat on the bed skimming through a few magazines, idling my morning away. Miss Marcia told me that someone was at the gate to me. I asked her who it was and she said that she didnt know. I looked downstairs and saw a man wearing a helmet sitting on a bike. I pressed the intercom and asked who it was. “Come downstairs”. What the fuck? I grabbed my robe and went outside. “Andre, wat you doing here”, I pissed as rass. He took off the helmet and with that boyish smile said “Was just passing by and I decided to visit”. I was mad as hell. And I let him have it there and then. The fucker just kept smiling. “Can I come inside”? Nope. Go home. He reached into his jacket and took out a small box and stretched out his hand towards me. I looked at it suspiciously. “And wat dis fah now”? I demanded. “Just a small token of my appreciation”. Really now. What the fuck is there to appreciate? I looked up and down the road. No other vehicles were on the road. So good for him, and good for me also. I took the box and opened it. “Are you mad”, as I took out the contents. “Madly in love with you”, he smirked. “You seem to have a short memory. Member wat happen to yuh di last time yuh decide to play Romeo”, I said as I put the contents in the box and returned it to him. “You dont like it”, he said faking a hurt look on his face. “I like it, but I dont want it. You better be going”. I turned around and he held unto my hand and squeezed it tightly. I dragged it away and walked back to the house, listening to the bike as it rode off. No missed calls from Mr. Man.
I wore a strapless red ensemble that stopped just above the knees. Simple hairdo, spending money and pocketbook. Miss Marcia had left for the evening so I had to lock up. As I grabbed the van keys from the corner table, I saw someone seated in the shadows of the living room. I jumped and was about to scream when he told me to be quiet. Marco walked over. He was wearing at-shirt and a jeans. He had a gun stuck in the front of his jeans. His hair was pulled out and he looked miserable and he was sweaty. He was obviously not on his way to the Spenders Ball. He walked over to me, a black travelling bag in one hand, the other empty. “I need to shower”, he mumbled and climbed the stairs. I replaced the keys on the table. Always the fucking same. Surprise people, act as if it was nothing, no explanations, did as he pleased. No questions asked. I placed the pocketbook beside the keys and slipped the heels off. I glanced outside and saw the gate closed. No sign of Frassman. No other vehicle in the driveway aside from the Range. As I climbed the steps I took up his shoes, his socks, the jeans and a bunch of keys. At the top of the stairs I found the t-shirt. It had dried blood on the front of it. Not a good sign. I went inside my bedroom and heard the shower on. The TV was turned on to a Western Channel and the black travelling bag Marco had earlier was on the bed. He came out of the bathroom, stood in the middle of the bedroom, drying off himself with a towel. He had also washed his hair. He was staring at me. “Where is Frassman”?, was the only thing I could say as I sat on the bed, glass in hand. “Him soon come”. It was then that I noticed the cut on his hand. It was bleeding. I got the medical kit and dressed his hand as he sat on a chair. He didnt say a word. “So, you going to the dance”, I asked as I finished what I was doing. “Not sure”. “Why not”, I had to know since he was already disrupting my plans. “Your yute come check yuh this morning”? “Which yute yuh talking bout”? “Blingers”. “No, I dont remember”, I lied. Still naked Marco got up and went over to the bed and opened the black travelling bag. He emptied the contents on the bed. Money. Lots of money. In crisp bank stacks. Close to a million Jamaican dollars or more. He pushed them aside searching for something and then he found it. He walked towards me, held my hand open, placed something in it and squeezed it shut. My eyes felt watery and I tried my best not to cry. I knew what was in my hand. I felt it. “Him did come and check me this morning and thats all”, I confessed. “Nuh fret, mi know nothing else never gwaan still, but why yuh lie”? He walked over to the bed and with one sweep he pushed the money and the bag to the floor. Marco then laid down on the bed, remote in hand. I was still standing in the middle of the room. “I didnt want to get yuh upset. He came and checked me and thats all”, I tried to sound convincing. But I knew that he knew more. “Try it on”, he requested, still watching the TV. “Why”? “I said to try it on”, he repeated, same tone, still watching the TV. The white gold necklace in my hand felt it weighed a tonne. It felt lighter this morning when Andre handed it to me in the box. I flung the chain on the ground and sat in the chair. What happened to Andre? What was this all about? “Wat is mine is mine and some bwoy need fi understand dat”. “Yuh kill him fid dat? Yuh really kill him fid at foolishness”, I was stunned, upset. “Who say nothing bout killing? Yuh hear seh mi ah kill nuh bady”? This time he was looking straight at me.
A phone was beside me ringing. It wasn’t mine. I took it up and looked at it. Bumpy Calling. I threw it at him and it struck the pillow just as he shifted his head. “Fuck off, just fuck off and leave me alone”, I spat and walked out on the balcony. It was a full moon.
“You come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly.” – Sam Keen
I put on the necklace. The same one that Andre Blingers had offered me, that Marco subsequently produced. I wore it as an act of open defiance. Defiance against hypocrites. Defiance against all the hurt and pain that I suffered recently. Defiance against being in fucked up situation, being a mascot for those men who made my life an emotional black hole, for the police and their probing. I was going to wear that necklace if it choked me and I didn’t care. Fuck Marco, fuck the whole lot of them. Meanwhile, big bad HE stood in front of the mirror getting dressed. He had clothes somewhere in the house. Maybe in another bedroom. Marco looked calm, orderly, focused. And quiet. Quiet at a time like this! I wanted to ask him what happened that night with him and Andre. Mi never want ask him, mi did want jump in him chest and demands! Demands, cause I have a right to know. Where did the money come from? What the fuck was going on? I wanted to scream at him, to take a lamp and slap him across his head. And there he stood, a simple white polo shirt covering that muscular chest. He had combed out his hair and it all over the place. Just like how he was all over my mind. This had to come to an end. Too many things are happening, have happened. When will it stop? When will I know “normal”? Normal isn’t being involved with the police, having no man of my own, living a life that could just well be a prison. I stood on the balcony and watched him. The tears had dried, my throat dry. He tucked the gun in his waist and walked over to me. I looked at him, I wasn’t afraid, I wasn’t going to shy away from him. He was responsible for the state I was now in. He was the reason my heart ached.
“Ready”, he said in a low tone. I turned away from him and looked out in the distance. I wasn’t about to be his football. He came behind, and placed his hands on my shoulders. I shuddered. He slowly rubbed them and the warmth. The warmth, that feeling. I didn’t need this, not at this moment. “Yes you do”, he said. It was as if he was reading my mind. His voice, smooth, caressing, as if wrapped around my whole body, “You need to just cool yourself. Why you doing this to me? You know what is what. You just….just”, and he broke off, kissing me on the back of my neck. I didn’t say anything. He placed his hands around my waist and pulled me closer. Even without cologne, his body smelt musky, manly, sexy. Yes, if there was a scent called manly, it would have Marco’s name all over it. “It cant go on like this Marco, it just cant. I am tired, mi soul tired, mi body tired, mi just tired of it all”. It was then I noticed that he had removed the necklace and it fell to the ground. He placed a hand around my neck and spun me around. “Yuh naw guh get tired of me tho. Never”.
“What happen to Andre? You come in here, blood up, bag full of money, and with the …something”, I could only refer to the necklace as the something. He eased off and walked into the bedroom and I followed him. “Macro, mi nuh business wat yuh want do or how yuh feel, but I can tell you this. Me and that bwoy nuh exchange nothing, not even a glass of water”, more confessing than anything else. I went to the dresser and tried to put myself together. Tried. Through the mirror, I saw him picking up the money and placing them in the travelling bag. He placed a few bundles in the nightstand and finished packing the bag. “What about the chain?”, he said, a matter of factly. “I did not take the necklace so don’t even go there”. I remained calm. I didn’t want to upset him, just wanted to talk, to find out if all was well with Blingers. I finished, went over to him and found myself tapping one foot and my arms crossed. I stopped the tapping. That was a bad idea even now. He tossed the bag across this shoulder and said “Him good”. Huh? And it was said in a “that is the end of that topic for now” tone. “Ready”, said he, dryly, and walked through the bedroom door. I quickly followed. Downstairs I took up the van keys and pocketbook from the corner table and made my way outside. Marco was standing by the van, talking on his phone, his voice low and cold. The bag was on the ground beside him. I got in the passenger side and turned on the ignition. A few minutes later he came inside and we were on our way. He stopped about half mile down the hill and parked by a tree. It was a lonely spot. I held unto the door handle. He made a call, and listened to what the person on the other end said and hung up. We then continued. “Why yuh nuh relax yuhself, mi look like mad man to you fi do yuh nothing?”
Soon we were parked infront of the same doctor’s office along Red Hills Road. My doctor, Andre Blinger’s doctor. It was opened sometimes till near dawn, based on the type of cases that came in. This doctor was good, a friend to those in need, especially to those who wanted to keep under the radar. Marco made another call, didn’t say a word, then hung up. Frassman came outside and behind him was Andre, his arm in a plaster, his head tightly wrapped in bandages. I was happy. I started smiling, then I found myself laughing with joy. Andre was ok! Looking like shit, scared, scarred and limping, but he was alive. I reached across and kissed Marco. “Thanks, thanks a lot”, I whispered as I squeezed his hand. Marco’s eyes remained fixed on the two as they walked to a nearby taxi. Andre got in. Frassman waited till the car drove off then he came over to the Range. “All good “, he asked as he climbed in the back, to no one in particular. “All good yute”, replied Marco. As he drove off I felt the tender pressure on my hand. Marco raised my hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.
Officially, it was described it as a “criminal enterprise”. The main actors were outlined in the confidential document that sat on the desk of the Superintendent. Based on intelligence, the group organized the transshipment of drugs from Kingston to the United Kingdom on behalf of a particular Columbian Cartel and their Jamaican counterparts. Several known gang members, most originating from some of the toughest ghettos in the Corporate Area, were involved. Marvin was identified as one of the main leaders, but it remained unclear as to who was the head. Since his arrest, the activities of the group had dipped temporarily, but the latest indicators were that it was back to business as usual. Locally, no charges have been brought against any of the players but they remained under constant surveillance. Marvin’s common law wife was expected to cooperate fully with investigators but recent signals were that was not a done deal. One cooperating witness, the then main crucial witness to the cold blooded criminality of the group, Kellisha Marie Pendegrast, affectionately called Kelly on the dancehall circuit, was murdered before she signed her affidavit. Marvin was still in custody London. But money was missing. Lots of it. All of it. Someone had tipped Marvin off shortly before his arrest and the cash that was being stored in several boxes simply vanished. And the authorities wanted it. The cocaine was also missing, leaving behind trace amounts. The money was gone into thin air. And Jamaican and the British authorities were pissed. The case was falling apart.
“Leave him. He means you no good. Yuh mad. The man is a man who yuh cant tame. What were you thinking. Madness, pure madness. Girl, enjoy yourself, cause he is yours, even if is just part of him yuh have, that part is yours”.
community, even for the sake of his children. “From mi leave Sainty (**St. Elizabeth) White Wing is the only place mi know. It is my home. It grow mi till it reach the part where me and the place grow hand in hand. Sometime mi even say to myself that White Wing is mi true one woman”. I had a friend who left for Barbados, leaving his house in Portmore locked up. He wanted no tenants but he said that I could use the house if I wanted to until he got it sold. That was two years ago. No immediate signs of it being sold. I asked Marco if he wanted to go over there and look at the house and if he was interested he could move in or even buy it at a deal. He smiled and said “Mi move in all different circles, mi have mi aunt up by Meadowbrook who love mi like her only son, what is hers is mine. Mi do mi little hustlings and can manage to live comfortable any where. But right now, mi naw leave out. Bumpy nuh want leave, and if she naw leave that mean the girls dem naw leave”.
“I believe that everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they’re right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.”
― Marilyn Monroe
When crossing the road, we are told to stop, look and listen. In life, when the going gets miserable, to get across that road, there are three stages. The first stage is to stop, sit, take a sip of something (coconut rum and pineapple juice), and reflect. Not review or analyze, that’s for later. Just reflect. It means looking back with a pure, raw, unadulterated mind. Its hard. Almost impossible. But necessary. It is only then that we see things as they are. No one can label anything as unpleasant for us. We see the ugly, the nasty, the darkness, the false. And then, and only then, that we move on to the next stage which is having an understanding of ourselves. After all, we cant understand unless we face the truth, and that was why we reflected. And what is the truth? The truth is. It simply is. It isn’t your truth or my truth or his truth, the truth is. We are taught to look out for fairy tale romances, the prince charming on his great white horse that rescues us from whatever or whomever, and who carries us off to the castle where we live happily ever after. The sex would be great, the children obedient and the mother-in-law tolerant. However, that rescue was more a kidnapping. The horse turned out to be a wild, regrettable series of events and the castle a prison. With all its amenities, rooms, furniture, its magnificent view, the space, we wish that we were free and about, without the memories, without the baggage of history. Just living a normal, free and simple life. That brings us to the third stage, planning the way forward.
I liked the view. Sometimes I would sit for hours on the balcony outside my bedroom looking out on the city. Kingston is always alive. Life goes on, the world moves on. The ice makes the mix mellow. It goes down well.
I am in a shared relationship. I share him with others. I knew this before I decided to share. I accepted this. He is a father to two wonderful girls. I never met them of course. But when Marco speaks of them, you can hear the love in his voice and see the energy in his eyes. I honestly believe that he would kill anyone who threatens their existence. The children were his reason for living, and those two took precedence over everything else. And it was his love for them why they remained with their mother. He didn’t want to see them hurt, to go through any emotional displacement in their early lives. And this stability was maintained by them staying with their mother. But Bumpy was not the perfect mom. A dancehall fly, she is well known for patronage at parties and dances. And Bumpy. He loved her. That’s the truth. No matter what happened between them, she was still his number one. Marco never said it, but the truth is. He was also a man of the people, a community activist as he sometimes called himself. The streets were his constant companion, as if made for each other. I have heard the stories, here and there. Not from him. He doesn’t speak much about his hustle. I heard about the shootings, the murders, the extortion. But its hard to believe that this was the same man who I knew, who I made love to. Not my Marco. Our Marco. He played football, he is with his children, sometimes on the road, by his aunt. Accept. He is not a saint. But he had to do what he had to do in order to survive. This was what he knew. But he could change. Could he? You cant force someone to change. You cant change people. Change is a process, driven by determination.
I knew he had many women before we started dating, or is it fucking. Whatever it was. We have something. We had something. Had. Yes, had. Is still there? His touch, his kiss, the way he made me feel. I was his. He made me feel special. Loved. Wanted. Marco knew how to reach in and gently stroke my soul. It was he who reignited that flame in me when Marvin chose to cover it. Marvin. It should have been better after him. After Marvin. Funny, this is the first time that I have accepted that we are no longer involved. Accept. Marvin and I are no longer together. But with no Marvin, is it better? With no Marvin, where does that leave me. What must I do? What really is the proper thing to do? Call his cousin Colin in London and tell him to tell Marvin that I am no longer Marvin’s numero uno. Marvin was still in prison. The authorities have him on some serious lock down.
I was never Marvin’s numero uno. More like numero nuff nuff. History. I wasn’t along with Marvin now. Its been ages that I have seen him and that was when I went to London. Marvin took to Kelly and made her his wife. Kelly was love. Marvin’s love. And Marco’s love. But was it love? Did he whisper things to her, gave her that touch, my touch. Did he make love to her, not just fuck, but made love. Did he? Did he share what we had with her? Accept. I was the one who came into his life while he was “with” Kelly. I was the matey. Kelly dead and gone and I am here still the professional matey. Matey Kelly, wifey Bumpy, all those women known and unknown. Maybe matey to DashOut, who to tell. I have no one to call my own. Accept.
I knew Marco, the Marco he allowed me to see. He has never mentioned Marvin JR, his son. Marvin JR is Marco’s son. Accept. Marco never explained the connection between Marvin and himself. Business? Then what type of business? Friends, yes. Friends maybe. Friend nuh fuck friend woman. Mi mean women. Or do they? Marco is a mystery. No matter how much I have claimed to “know” him, I don’t. Accept. Funny enough, I have never seen an identification card, no driver’s licence, passport, voter’s ID, nothing for him. He told me his last name once. I called him by it jokingly. He didn’t think it was funny. Marco will do. And yet, this man of mystery has a hold on my life. Him ah strangle me and him naw use him hands and mi sure him know it.
The phone was ringing. It stopped and the other phone started to ring. Its been ringing like that for several days. When he came by the first two days I went straight to my room and locked the door. He knocked, asked me what was wrong. I told him I needed to be alone. He called my phones, I didn’t answer. Messages were left on the voicemail. Didn’t feel like speaking to him or anyone else. After those first two days he stopped coming across. Frassman’s number, private numbers, unknown numbers, all Marco. I just didn’t want to talk to him. I want to be at peace. I just want a life right now. This was not living. I want to live. I want enjoyment, security, peace, happiness. Happiness. If I could spend every fucking dollar I have and buy happiness I would. Mi nuh happy.
The tears rolled down my cheeks. The tears came easily. Each day, at this time, I had these exact thoughts. No variation. Same way suh. Every fucking day from the other day. Mi head hurt mi more times. Watching TV didn’t help. I had no vibes to speak to Sharon and the girls. Mi never want chat to nuhbady. My only companion was drinking. It clogged the mind, slowed the headache, slowed time. I wanted it to stop time. I wanted everything to stop. Fucked up. I never expected it, yet I should have. The phone was ringing. A special ring. A ring that calmed me down. Should it? It nuh matter, it calmed me. Maybe it was because of who was calling. Maybe it was my way of payback. Maybe, could be. Ok. Let me tell yuh the truth. I never want to chat to nuhbady, except one this person. He reached out to me with his text messages. Then I accepted a call, then two. And our calls became a way of reaching out to each other. I walked over to the phone, and without looking at the number, I answered it. I needed a pleasant distraction, a companion, or even more. He provided me with what I was looking for this moment in time.
“I believe that everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they’re right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.”
― Marilyn Monroe
When crossing the road, we are told to stop, look and listen. In life, when the going gets miserable, to get across that road, there are three stages. The first stage is to stop, sit, take a sip of something (coconut rum and pineapple juice), and reflect. Not review or analyze, that’s for later. Just reflect. It means looking back with a pure, raw, unadulterated mind. Its hard. Almost impossible. But necessary. It is only then that we see things as they are. No one can label anything as unpleasant for us. We see the ugly, the nasty, the darkness, the false. And then, and only then, that we move on to the next stage which is having an understanding of ourselves. After all, we cant understand unless we face the truth, and that was why we reflected. And what is the truth? The truth is. It simply is. It isn’t your truth or my truth or his truth, the truth is. We are taught to look out for fairy tale romances, the prince charming on his great white horse that rescues us from whatever or whomever, and who carries us off to the castle where we live happily ever after. The sex would be great, the children obedient and the mother-in-law tolerant. However, that rescue was more a kidnapping. The horse turned out to be a wild, regrettable series of events and the castle a prison. With all its amenities, rooms, furniture, its magnificent view, the space, we wish that we were free and about, without the memories, without the baggage of history. Just living a normal, free and simple life. That brings us to the third stage, planning the way forward.
I liked the view. Sometimes I would sit for hours on the balcony outside my bedroom looking out on the city. Kingston is always alive. Life goes on, the world moves on. The ice makes the mix mellow. It goes down well.
I am in a shared relationship. I share him with others. I knew this before I decided to share. I accepted this. He is a father to two wonderful girls. I never met them of course. But when Marco speaks of them, you can hear the love in his voice and see the energy in his eyes. I honestly believe that he would kill anyone who threatens their existence. The children were his reason for living, and those two took precedence over everything else. And it was his love for them why they remained with their mother. He didn’t want to see them hurt, to go through any emotional displacement in their early lives. And this stability was maintained by them staying with their mother. But Bumpy was not the perfect mom. A dancehall fly, she is well known for patronage at parties and dances. And Bumpy. He loved her. That’s the truth. No matter what happened between them, she was still his number one. Marco never said it, but the truth is. He was also a man of the people, a community activist as he sometimes called himself. The streets were his constant companion, as if made for each other. I have heard the stories, here and there. Not from him. He doesn’t speak much about his hustle. I heard about the shootings, the murders, the extortion. But its hard to believe that this was the same man who I knew, who I made love to. Not my Marco. Our Marco. He played football, he is with his children, sometimes on the road, by his aunt. Accept. He is not a saint. But he had to do what he had to do in order to survive. This was what he knew. But he could change. Could he? You cant force someone to change. You cant change people. Change is a process, driven by determination.
I knew he had many women before we started dating, or is it fucking. Whatever it was. We have something. We had something. Had. Yes, had. Is still there? His touch, his kiss, the way he made me feel. I was his. He made me feel special. Loved. Wanted. Marco knew how to reach in and gently stroke my soul. It was he who reignited that flame in me when Marvin chose to cover it. Marvin. It should have been better after him. After Marvin. Funny, this is the first time that I have accepted that we are no longer involved. Accept. Marvin and I are no longer together. But with no Marvin, is it better? With no Marvin, where does that leave me. What must I do? What really is the proper thing to do? Call his cousin Colin in London and tell him to tell Marvin that I am no longer Marvin’s numero uno. Marvin was still in prison. The authorities have him on some serious lock down.
I was never Marvin’s numero uno. More like numero nuff nuff. History. I wasn’t along with Marvin now. Its been ages that I have seen him and that was when I went to London. Marvin took to Kelly and made her his wife. Kelly was love. Marvin’s love. And Marco’s love. But was it love? Did he whisper things to her, gave her that touch, my touch. Did he make love to her, not just fuck, but made love. Did he? Did he share what we had with her? Accept. I was the one who came into his life while he was “with” Kelly. I was the matey. Kelly dead and gone and I am here still the professional matey. Matey Kelly, wifey Bumpy, all those women known and unknown. Maybe matey to DashOut, who to tell. I have no one to call my own. Accept.
I knew Marco, the Marco he allowed me to see. He has never mentioned Marvin JR, his son. Marvin JR is Marco’s son. Accept. Marco never explained the connection between Marvin and himself. Business? Then what type of business? Friends, yes. Friends maybe. Friend nuh fuck friend woman. Mi mean women. Or do they? Marco is a mystery. No matter how much I have claimed to “know” him, I don’t. Accept. Funny enough, I have never seen an identification card, no driver’s licence, passport, voter’s ID, nothing for him. He told me his last name once. I called him by it jokingly. He didn’t think it was funny. Marco will do. And yet, this man of mystery has a hold on my life. Him ah strangle me and him naw use him hands and mi sure him know it.
The phone was ringing. It stopped and the other phone started to ring. Its been ringing like that for several days. When he came by the first two days I went straight to my room and locked the door. He knocked, asked me what was wrong. I told him I needed to be alone. He called my phones, I didn’t answer. Messages were left on the voicemail. Didn’t feel like speaking to him or anyone else. After those first two days he stopped coming across. Frassman’s number, private numbers, unknown numbers, all Marco. I just didn’t want to talk to him. I want to be at peace. I just want a life right now. This was not living. I want to live. I want enjoyment, security, peace, happiness. Happiness. If I could spend every fucking dollar I have and buy happiness I would. Mi nuh happy.
The tears rolled down my cheeks. The tears came easily. Each day, at this time, I had these exact thoughts. No variation. Same way suh. Every fucking day from the other day. Mi head hurt mi more times. Watching TV didn’t help. I had no vibes to speak to Sharon and the girls. Mi never want chat to nuhbady. My only companion was drinking. It clogged the mind, slowed the headache, slowed time. I wanted it to stop time. I wanted everything to stop. Fucked up. I never expected it, yet I should have. The phone was ringing. A special ring. A ring that calmed me down. Should it? It nuh matter, it calmed me. Maybe it was because of who was calling. Maybe it was my way of payback. Maybe, could be. Ok. Let me tell yuh the truth. I never want to chat to nuhbady, except one this person. He reached out to me with his text messages. Then I accepted a call, then two. And our calls became a way of reaching out to each other. I walked over to the phone, and without looking at the number, I answered it. I needed a pleasant distraction, a companion, or even more. He provided me with what I was looking for this moment in time.
and the girls loved the idea. It was Andre who came up with the concept when I told him that I wanted to do something. He set me up on the place that was for rent. Andre knew the son of the owners so things went smoothly. The place was recently renovated so it was just to get in the fixtures, sorting out the applications for licensing, hiring staffing, sourcing stock etc. Things were moving fast. Spent my days up and down on the road. Paul loaned me Prince some days and he acted as consultant in making orders, negotiating with the contractors and other details. Prince and Paul didn’t like Andre, said that he was a cruff with no ambition. Andre didn’t seem to notice their cold behavior towards him. Not surprising. It was like water off a duck’s back to him, him just don’t care or let it bother him. I reminded Paul and Prince that Andre was assisting me so at least him serve some purpose. Of course Andre got his daily stipend, for his “expenses” such as phone card and lunch. Being around him this often I found out that he smoked. With that he kept his distance from me. Money wasn’t an issue in getting the business going, it was Marvin’s funds. And that was why I kept Marvin in the loop. My business, but with his help. Plus, if and when he returns I am sure that he wanted something legitimate happening for him. Marvin said he didn’t care and that I was just thinking about myself. When I told him that the business would let him live up to his responsibility towards his son, he kind of warmed to the idea, especially when he heard that Blingers was assisting. Maybe he thought I would have mentioned another name. Blingers was no threat and it did help that he was Marvin JR’s uncle. And because of that I kept Andre at the line in the sand. Recent events forced me to keep him there whether I wanted him to cross or not. Andre flirted, whispered his xrated thoughts when no one was paying attention, offered to drive me where I wanted to go. I told him I was a good driver.
Being the oldest of three girls for her mother, she knew it was up to her to set the pace for her younger sisters. Her mother supported her dancing efforts. As a higgler, the mother travelled frequently to Miami, London and Panama and put out a special effort to ensure that DashOut got the best of everything. That’s how she got her pet name, as she was famed for “dashing out” the latest fashions each time she went to a major show, and she never repeated. She passed on those clothes to her friends as her mother said that to keep them will be a waste of time. Within a year, the mother was able buy the house she rented, renovated and expanded it. Business was better than it was when the mother was in St. Thomas. Marvin and Marco made it even better after she met them in Kingston. At 33, the mother was just 15 years older than DashOut. She kept up her looks. She was independent and single. Three different babyfathers, several one off lovers and a bad relationship convinced her that men were bad for business. They all looked to use her. But not Marvin. Marvin was younger, but mature than men fucked. He wasn’t into a relationship as he had his woman, and other women. He was great in bed and he too had his money. So it was a “win win” situation for them both. The mother was no saint. She knew the hustlings from early days, carrying drugs to Heathrow and when the pressure mounted, to Gatwick. The links in the chain ensured that she was given safe passage from Jamaica. She didn’t ask but simply followed instructions as to which custom and immigration officers to go to. She was never searched. First it was smuggling in body cavities, then in body straps. That was discarded for a bigger picture. The suitcase crammed with tightly wrapped packages of cocaine. It paid well, extremely well. She bought the house, set up several small stores throughout Jamaica, and had a healthy bank balance. She could have moved to a middle class neighbourhood, but felt comfortable where she was. It wasn’t fully ghetto, although it was within reach of some of Kingston’s grittiest areas, including White Wing, but it was to her comfort.
http://youtu.be/q2LMukQgAZI
Marvin’s case was put off for another date. He claimed he didnt know why, but he sounded more confident afterwards. Which was good, in a way. We talked about the Club, some of his friends, Marvin JR, his plans when his case was over (if it work out for him, but I was not the one to mention the word “if”). One thing. He kept slipping in that question now and then into our discussions/arguments/talking. As if he wanted to hear the words from my lips. Who I was fucking? He was informed of a lot of things that was happening in Jamaica and he always reminded me of that. So, I was sure that he heard the talk about me and Marco. But I wasn’t going to be the one to say anything about that. All when him keeping telling me that “me will understand”, “don’t lie to me” and I must be “truthful”, mi never carry him or bring him. When I asked him about the girl he had, he eventually admitted that he had a girl over there and it wasn’t anything serious. Dry eye and plain as day. Marvin wanted to know if I was willing to come back to him, to let bygones be bygones. I told him that I was in Jamaica where he left me and I had nowhere going, the only thing I could say. It wasn’t all nice and chitty chatty. When I said that he was more confident, that didn’t mean that he was open hearted. Every now and then he forcefully reminded me that it was his house and money that I was living off. Marvin coolly said that it was the history we had, what we both have been through over years, that kept him from doing certain things. He never explained what those things were. I never asked. I knew both of us were going around each other in circles now. With his Court case pending, that was all he could do, circle. With my situation out here, I just had to circle also. I blocked any thought of how my life would be if he should be set free. I will cross that bridge when I reach it. I asked him once to explain what exactly they charged him with. He didn’t want to go there over the phone. I still didn’t have a number for him. He made all the calls.
goods. Being told the cost, he would request a bank account to which he would lodge a cheque. Within the hour a cheque would be lodged in a sum greater than the figure quoted. The business operator would be contacted and informed of the “error” and asked to reimburse the amount by way of cash which should be given to his bearer when the goods were being picked up. The business operator would confirm with the bank that the cheque was there and would hand over the cash and the goods. Later, more than likely, he would suffer his losses in silence. Small businesses rarely made reports to the police about these types of hits and definitely wouldn’t warn fellow businesses about their disaster out of shame. Of course, it took quick thinking, planning and an agile tongue to pull off these operations. Not all were successful, some fell apart and the bearer would be caught or had to run leaving the loot behind. Sometimes the businessman would be on his guard. However, the cheques provided an opportunity in the inner city. Food, name brand shoes and clothing, cosmetics, high end electronics, and other items were always on the move into the Big Man’s house and then sold at cut rate prices. It started off by the car trunk load and quickly elevated to a large can or truck. Boxes and pallets of goods were the norm. Each member of the gang would get something in cash or kind, depending on the level of participation. Soon all gang members of the gang were well dressed and a few were either riding spanking new bicycles or scooters. Marco and a privileged few drove the Big Man’s motor vehicles or the numerous rentals he had from time to time. Those gang members who failed were guaranteed legal representation and being taken care of whilst in police lock up. Marco was never a failure. He was the Big Man’s Star Bwoy. Cash was always accounted for, the goods handed over intact, and smiles everywhere when Marco completed his bearer duties. Soon Marco became the enforcer who dealt with rogue elements within the gang, those men who dissed the Big Man and ran off with the monies and the goods. Marco knew how and where to find them. And he made them pay, normally with their lives. After the first few victims fell, everyone fell in line. Those who survived had the scars and broken limbs to remind them never to cross the Big Man again. Marco was soon anointed the community provider for the powerbase of White Wing. The Big Man controlled the communities surrounding Olympic Way from Three Miles to Tower Hill, but it was Marco who supervised his home field of White Wing. Basic food items were given to the needy on a weekly basis, school fees paid, birthdays, weddings and funerals subsidized and treats held. Marco rose from being the cute bwoy from country to the Real Man.
knew that something was up. The Big Man was speaking on the phone when the young man on foot asked Marco if he recognized him. Marco looked carefully in his face and remembered him partying with the Big Man at a Club a few weeks ago. From his vantage point Frassman saw what was happening and moved towards both men. Before he reached, Marco tried to move for his own gun. That was when the contracted shooter brandished the glock and started firing.
The beach was crowded, music from a nearby sound system was blaring away and the sun was scorching. Within the two hours we were here, we must have had about five bottles of water between us. The smell of fried fish drifted from the shops nearby. Business was good here at Hellshire due to a Fun Day being promoted by the Blingers Crew from Canada. Yes, the same crew that Andre belonged to. He was born in Canada when his mother went over there a few months into her pregnancy. Since then, he has been between here and there, spending time with family and friends between both nations. His friends in Canada, the Blingers, consisted of Jamaicans with ties to Canada, known for their parties and extravagance. The Blingers made their way to Kingston and their numbers swelled leading up to the ball that was held at LaRoose last night. Now it was their day and night to relax. By tomorrow they will be returning to the continent, with the prodigal Andre following them. He said that he will be gone for a few months and will keep in touch. I am gonna miss him, a good yute still. Sharon and I decided to attend the event, to shake off the black clouds that settled recently. The killing of DashOut created a tidal wave throughout the dancehall fraternity. Dances were being restricted, permits for them were like getting a visa, hang out spots being constantly raided and vehicles of certain persons targeted for searches and “routine checks”. I was stopped three times by police officers who were trailing me and after the extensive searches were done I was allowed to continue in my frustrated state. Sharon told me that a party that we were supposed to attend in Portmore several days ago was raided and the patrons detained, fingerprinted and processed on spot. No arrests were made. Fuckery. Discrimination. Bias. That was how they saw it and how I saw it. Ok, a lot of us lived uptown, whether from long time or by moving on up, but dancehall was our way of life. Some took it on full time, others part-time. But we all took note that the parties and session promoted by the uptown set were allowed to continue without a hitch. It was speculated that the Blingers spend thousands of dollars to keep the police away from LaRoose and today’s activities.
fashion, and removed the battery and the SIM card. That shit! He has a childish grin on his face, standing there naked and erect. “So this is how its going to be. About you, your needs”? and I was trying to be serious, given the situation. He was selfish and controlling and he very well knew. We kissed and the blouse and panty went. I stepped away from him and again took up my wine glass. Bwoy, when yuh find yourself in these type of situations, what to do? Marco walked over. I knew that he was going to take his time, to have his own way. He took the glass from me and held my hand and we walked together to the bedroom. The blinds were already drawn and Whitney’s “Why does it hurt so bad” was now starting. “You know mi nuh like you at all”, I whispered in His ears as He lay on top of me.“I know. Yuh passionate bout me”, as He kissed me, long and warm. I wrapped my hands around Him. I missed Him so much and the excitement in me was reaching boiling point. “I just miss us being us, what we had when we just started”, I managed to say as He started His motions. We fell into a long, masterful and intoxicating rhythm. No more talking. No rush. It was the two of us again and nothing else mattered. I don’t know why, but it was moments like this why I love this man. He made me His own. When I am not around Him, all I could think of is not seeing him anymore and moving on, to get over him and survive. At those times I couldn’t stand him. I despised him. Yet I loved this man. I wanted him. He hands caressed my breast ever so often, smooth, loving. “Sorry I didn’t make it for your birthday”, he whispered.
for. The loss of an occasional shipment to the Babylon system is also a cost. However, when that shipment is dragged from out of your hands during a so called robbery, and the only two persons who were killed were intimately connected to the Kingston leg, that’s another matter. The Latinos heard. They knew that the Jamaican operations were passing through some rough internal conflict, so they sent the message – sort it out. The final push. And now Marco was in his way to reason with Champagne, to sort it out. The venue was the usual villa in Montego Bay. Is a meeting Champagne want, is a meeting him going to get. Champagne had shown that he wasn’t satisfied with the Mobay leg of the operations anymore, he also wanted Kingston. He wanted every fucking thing. That meant no room for loose ends or one time partners. How the situation today is handled determines the phone call the Latinos were expecting at 6 p.m. That call would be from them both or from a survivor. Marco took a drink from the Magnum bottle and started to make His fourth spliff for the day. The strain was getting to Him. Him just nuh like nothing badda badda Him for too long. And this shit has been going on long enough. Since Marvin left for London, Marco was solely in charge of the Kingston leg of the movements. Everything was moving smoothly. Then, without warning, things started shaking. Marvin’s arrest in London, the pressure of the local and British authorities on HomeGirl, the brutal murder of DashOut and the disappearance of a shipment all happened on His leg, the Kingston leg, under His watch. Mind you, that was only one of many shipments made, but the idea of the Kingston operations being unable to deal with its troubles raised eyebrows. Cracks in the system and cracks meant weakness. Weakness attracts predators. Champagne was a predator and a pussy. With this last shit storm that he created, Champagne had exposed his hand.
have Daddy around. In the days he remained in the community. Now and then He and Frassman would silently slip through one of the many zinc fences and go about their business, no driving for them. Bully, Shaka and German kept close since Marco arrived. Something was up. Fuck that, something was always up, that’s life in the ghetto. Things never remained the same, and the waters were always busy. It was His attitude, his behavior that kept her wondering as of late. She wasn’t getting the feedback from Him that she wanted. Yuh know, that special something between man and woman. And this has been the case for sometime. Fucking was good and they spoke on good terms. But He never spoke about the two of them anymore. That romantic edge, where they would lock the door and sprawl out naked in bedroom for hours, chatting, playing, hugging, the side she alone knew, or was supposed to know, was gone. The gentleness, the feelings, the emotions, it just wasn’t there. It wasn’t as if He was cold or uncaring. No. But she sensed the drifting, like something was breaking apart between them. She just couldn’t pinpoint that something that was missing. She couldn’t bring up the subject with Him because she know how Him stay. She know she will start talk tings and den Him ah guh vex and then all sort of shit will come up, and they will fight. And she nuh want go desso. Ok, Him might nuh fucky fucky, but she knew that He was fucking on her, just not in her face. She felt as if she was getting a cleare picture of what her problem was. Marco wasn’t just fucking outside, Him have a woman. Him just naw fuck her, Him HAVE her, start fi ketch feelings for her if it nuh already reach. What else would explain how Him ah move? Ah woman tek a piece, she can deal wid that. If she find out is who, she may go the extra mile and deal wid the bitch. You can always beat sense in a gal head. However, how do you deal with a man’s feelings? Discuss? Discuss what? There wasn’t anything to discuss cause she still nuh have nothing to put forward. Still, it not right. This gal come and just force herself pon her man and just ah mash up her life. Why else Marco woulda move out bout him gone up by aunty in Meadowbrook? That gal have Marvin. Marvin ah hot bwoy, him have him money and him ratings high bout the place. What more dat rass gal could want?
the bathroom and quietly put on her clothes. She then left the room. Champagne wasn’t sleeping but studying her movements through half closed eyes. He then got up and bolted the hotel door. She fooling herself to think he was going to drop so much money for her. She will get a change but no down payment for her. He then drifted off to sleep. He smelt the smoke. Something was burning in the room. Champagne struggled to raise himself off the bed. The room was dark but for a small fire on a table near the open balcony door. He adjusted his eyes and saw them. Frassman was standing in the corner beside the bed. Marco was taking some small paper out of black plastic bag and throwing them one by one in the flames. Champagne quickly felt under the pillows for his gun. No gun. “Don’t say a word. I don’t want to hear nothing from you”, Marco whispered, still throwing paper into the fire. The luggage tags burned quickly. The smoke drifted through the open balcony door. “Wah dis fah now! Wah dis fah! Yuh feel yuh can come ah mi town come kip up fuckery like wah yuh do ah White Wing”, Champagne was angry. As he tried to get off the bed, Frassman kicked him in his chest, causing him to fall back on the pillows. “My Lawd!!! Ah wah dis fah!!! Yuh mad?? Ah wah yuh ah try prove”? He screamed, looking straight at Marco. Frassman kicked him again, this time in the side. Marco held up one of the paper and said, “Dem yah show seh yuh ah real fuckery and yuh tun round ah try style man. Yuh mek mi nearly haffi sell mi soul fi pay back di man dem fi dem coke. Yuh never know mi woulda get di tag dem and get to the bottom of tings. And yuh kill di woman dem and loud up di ting”. Fat man pleaded, “Marco, just easy yuhself nuh, me and Parchie will sort out something wid yuh, just cool nuh”. Marco looked scornfully at the naked mess that was lying to him, “Parchie seh not even one drop ah di ting yuh gi him outta di shipment yuh hijack”. Fear rushed through Champagne, “PARCHIE COULDN’T SEH DAT. HOW PARCHIE FI SEH DAT? NO, NO, NOTHING LIKE DAT! MI NEVER HIJACK NOTHING, MI NUH KNOW WEH YUH AH CHAT BOUT”! Champagne inched towards the edge of the bed, closer to Marco, but Frassman slapped him across the side of the head with the gun. Fat man held the side of his head and cried as blood flowed from the wound. “MEK WI TALK OUT DIS TING NUH MAN……..”, Champagne begged. Marco sat on a chair and took out his gun. There was only one thing he wanted to know right now. What happened to the coke?
As he slept, I had my head rested on his chest. His breathing was steady, his face relaxed, his arm wrapped around me. It was now 8 in the morning, five hours since I fell asleep, and the rain was falling. And here I was looking at this handsome man who seems to have been a part of me for eternity. I felt at peace at this moment, to cuddle and he making me feel as if I was the only one who mattered to him. The stereo system powered up, based on the timer that I had set the previous evening, and Michael Jackson’s voice oozed “Lady In My Life”. Marco’s hand moved up and down my back, his fingers setting off familiar erotic feelings in me. He was now awake, a smile on his face, his eyes still closed. As much as I wanted this to last, I had to get up. It was going to be a busy day. I had a meeting with the Police concerning the Club. They called me and asked me to come in. It better be a final decision as this thing has been drawing out for way too long now. I was hoping for the best as things couldn’t get any much worst now. Andre, I really need to locate him. After the police, I had to go up to the customs broker about some things that Marvin shipped from London. Just that, things. No explanation as to what these things were. I was hesitant at first but then again I would examine the documents the broker has to see what Mister Marvin him was up to. For a man who was supposed to be living on limited means, his court case and all, I had no idea where he found money to do shipping. Then again, that’s Marvin for you. Later I wanted to go and look for Marvin’s mother. We spoke yesterday and found out that she was recently hospitalized. I haven’t seen her in ages and our phone calls were few and far between. She has always been supportive and kind to me and my gratitude to her was endless.
spirits saying that she heard from her son often. We didn’t speak of his case, but she did ask about her grandson. She wanted to see him even once. I thought to myself of the implications of this situation with Marvin JR and how people will deal with it should the truth be revealed. Even down to the child’s name will be a sore point. The longer things remain unchanged, the harder it would be for the deception to be accepted. There would be hurt all around.
I reasoned that the best way for it, this situation, relationship or whatever it was we had, the best way to maintain its mystique was to accept the reality and allow each of us to return to our worlds, even temporarily. Marco seemed to understand, though he still didn’t like the idea of me heading home. “But you have a home you have to go to, your kids, your responsibilities……..”, I reminded him. “….And Bumpy too”, he completed the sentence. I was packing my bags and tried my best to avoid eye contact. He was lying on the bed, staring at me, then he reached out and grabbed my hand and pulled me on top of his naked frame. “Say it nuh, I have to go back to Bumpy”, he repeated coolly, his hand now squeezing mine. I wrestled with him and he finally let go. I was now on my side on the bed, my back to him. “She is your babymother, and yes you have to go back to her, we cant just ah gwaan suh”, I let out. I felt his warm body pressed against mine. That was two weeks ago. He still had his set of keys for the house in Hellshire and he still visited me in Stony Hill. Sometimes he slept in one of the other bedrooms and I would only know that he was there when Miss Marva mentioned it in the mornings. She never seemed to mention his name when he slept in my room, but why would she.
I reasoned that the best way for it, this situation, relationship or whatever it was we had, the best way to maintain its mystique was to accept the reality and allow each of us to return to our worlds, even temporarily. Marco seemed to understand, though he still didn’t like the idea of me heading home. “But you have a home you have to go to, your kids, your responsibilities……..”, I reminded him. “….And Bumpy too”, he completed the sentence. I was packing my bags and tried my best to avoid eye contact. He was lying on the bed, staring at me, then he reached out and grabbed my hand and pulled me on top of his naked frame. “Say it nuh, I have to go back to Bumpy”, he repeated coolly, his hand now squeezing mine. I wrestled with him and he finally let go. I was now on my side on the bed, my back to him. “She is your babymother, and yes you have to go back to her, we cant just ah gwaan suh”, I let out. I felt his warm body pressed against mine. That was two weeks ago. He still had his set of keys for the house in Hellshire and he still visited me in Stony Hill. Sometimes he slept in one of the other bedrooms and I would only know that he was there when Miss Marva mentioned it in the mornings. She never seemed to mention his name when he slept in my room, but why would she.
“First best is falling in love. Second best is being in love. Least best is falling out of love. But any of it is better than never having been in love.” ― Maya Angelou
This outfit was waiting for me in my closet when I returned home this evening, they having been dropped off by a lady, according to Miss Marva. I immediately fell in love with the ensemble. When I was coming down the stairs Marvin, dressed in his black Armani suit, actually looked surprised. Now here we were, standing together, his arms around my waist, posing for the several cameramen and videographers.
As I sat speaking to Prince and Paul, Paul let out, “So why you never tell mi dat yuh roll deep dem ways deh”. “Wat yuh talking bout”, I asked. Prince, “Mi tell yuh dat she gwaan like idiot when it comes to man moretimes”. “You going to behave yuhself tonight”, I warned Prince who was obviously under his liquor. I turned to Paul and asked what he was talking about. We were sitting on a couch to the side as others milled and danced away, I sitting in the middle. Marvin was nowhere to be seen. Paul went on, “Den how yuh never tell mi di big man from out west was invited”. “Paul, just in case yuh never realize, is nuff big man deh here”, and I waved my hands in the air. “Mi ah talk Parchie, di one who control things out west”. Parchie. I heard of him but never met him. His name was legendary. A big businessman who was popular with the politicians. His had six sons, four of whom were killed by gunmen over a period of time. The last two were sent abroad to school and have not returned since. His wife Doreen was the head of one of the most prolific charities in St. James, sponsoring dozens of children in schools and she was always in the news. But it was his association with the notorious Daddy Champagne that stuck out. After Champagne was murdered by unknown men, the largest funeral in recent memory was held in Montego Bay and everyone was there, including Marco and Frassman. Many were quietly relieved at his killing. The police investigation into his death reached a dead end with the brutal murder of some girl who worked at a bank. It was said that she could have identified the suspects who were seen in Champagne’s company hours before he was shot multiple times. “I don’t know this Parchie, suh where is he”, I was curious as to who this man was, what he looked like.Paul immediately turned his head and I looked and looked. All I could see was the distinguished looking gentleman who I had met earlier. He was standing in the midst of several girls who were laughing away, champagne glasses in hand.
“If you want to make peace, you don’t talk to your friends. You talk to your enemies.”
― Desmond Tutu
attendance was a regular feature now and it was even more important today, it being the beginning of the study period for Sunday School exams. Marco sat quietly in the back of the service, his face beaming with pride each time he managed a glimpse of his daughters who were sitting with some other children near the front. If only he could get JR to join them, to have all his children together. The pastor called all the kids forward. His girls, hand in hand, made their way along with about twenty children. This was the second time he accompanied them to church, though they went most Sundays. His cell phone was vibrating and he looked at the number and ignored the call. There was another call from the same number and he locked off the phone. The children were now walking down the aisle, being quickly but gently ushered by the Children Church coordinators. The smaller girl waved at him as they passed by.
That second driver now made his way to the hotel room and stepped in, as the door was not locked. He knocked on the bathroom door. “Leave me alone”, the woman cried out. Marco used his fist and struck the door. Sharon cracked the door and peeped out. “Sharon, Parchie says he had to leave and that the room is yours for the rest of the week because its paid for”. “You can tell Parchie to go suck out him wife pussy”, she yelled. Marco pushed the door open and grabbed her by the hair and pulled her into the room, marching her over to the bed. She struggled to release herself from his grip as he forced her to sit on the bed. “I don’t want to hear one more word. I don’t business with wat you and Parchie had. Yuh hear, HAD. The man give mi ah message and mi deliver it, suh nuh have mi as no fool bout to tell the man wat him must do to him wife. Ah cause yuh and di B ah fren wah mek mi nuh want diss yuh. Hold this envelope, cool yuh temper”, he instructed. Sharon wanted to say something, but thought better when she saw the ignorance in his face. As he left the room, Marco’s mind was buzzing. His instincts were hardly wrong. Sharon was just a one night thing but something told him that Parchie had his eyes on someone else.
destruction happen, and it wasn’t as if she was throwing it in his face. And seet deh, him can walk and show the whole place him buddy print out inna him shorts and him expect that she mustn’t say nothing. Bumpy kissed her teeth and went inside. By time Marco reached the front door, she had the bucket with the seasoned chicken and smaller bowl with sauce waiting on him. The footballers were going to grill the chicken back and she had obliged by preparing the cases of meat that Marco had bought for them. The jerk pan was already smoldering and Marco made a shout out and Frassman made his way over and collected the items. Before Marco could say a word she started, “Ah just this alone leave outta the 60lbs and please tell them to mek sure mi get back mi container dem, cause ah nuh community property”. He looked at her and avoided the bait. Marco knew the reason why she was on the aggressive side. She has been like this for the past few days. As he stepped away from her, Bumpy couldn’t hold it anymore ,“Why”? Marco stopped by the door jam, not looking at her, “For you, for your own good”. That was the nearest they ever got to talking about that topic.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEszTzdUMcY
FLORIDA HOT LIKE KINGSTON NOW
Title: MAN FOND DEAD ON GOLF COURSE
Message Body:
http://www.nbcmiami.com/news/Person-Shot-in-Sunrise-Police-191652631.html
Police are investigating after a man was found shot to death on a golf course in Sunrise Monday morning.
The shooting happened around 4 a.m. in the 3700 block of N. University Drive near a strip mall with a Hooters Restaurant and a gentleman’s club, Sunrise Police said.
An officer who was on patrol heard the shots from a few blocks away and found the man’s body on the property of Springtree Golf Club behind the strip mall, police said
A WHEY DI !#$%%^ REALLY DID A $%^& GWAAN?? – WHOLE HEEP A READING FOR THOSE WHO WANT TO BE EDIFIED
Jamaica, US and extradition
published: Thursday | April 8, 2004
By Lloyd Williams, Senior Associate Editor
OVER THE last 12 years, Jamaica has been one of the United States Government’s most active extradition partners since the two nations signed the treaty in 1991.
Indeed, the level of co-operation has been such over the years, that at one stage in 1997, there was no extradition detainee in custody or on bail awaiting first-instance hearing before a Resident Magistrate’s Court, the court of committal which can order extradition.
Ten fugitives were extradited from Jamaica to the United States in 2003.
According to the March 2004 International Narcotics Control Strategy Report, published by the U.S. Department of State, “Jamaican authorities are receptive to and co-operative with U.S. requests for extradition, and are working with U.S. authorities to accelerate the extradition process.”
It observed, however, that an “overburdened court system combined with the appeals process available to … defendants means that contested extradition requests can take two to five years to litigate fully”.
200 CASES
It said the U.S. Government supported the highly effective Jamaica Fugitive Apprehension Team (JFAT), with guidance from U.S. Marshals, specialised training, equipment and operational support. JFAT, it said, was actively working on more than 200 extradition cases, the majority involving drug or homicide charges.
Extradition to the United States which had been going on for several years, was energized in 1999 when the Jamaican Government, with the assistance of the United States Govern-ment, formed a special Jamaican Fugitive Apprehen-sion Team (JFAT), to target and apprehend fugitives from the law in the USA. In 2000 JFAT, aided by officers of the U.S. Marshals Service, made more than 20 arrests.
In 1994, Jamaica extradited one person to the United States; in 1995 it was six; in 1996, one, but eight US-citizen fugitives were expelled or deported. In 1997 it extradited three; in 1998, four; in 1999, four; in 2000, ten; in 2001, nil, but nine in 2002.
Jamaica has extradition treaties with the United Kingdom, Canada, and other countries.
The extradition treaty between the governments of Jamaica and the United States was formally implemented on June 7, 1991, when Jamaica and the United States exchanged instruments of ratification at a ceremony at the U.S. State Department in Washington, D.C.
However, the treaty has not always operated smoothly. It was reviewed in 1992 after incidents involving two Americans who came here in July 1992 to take back to the States with them, two resident aliens who were wanted in the USA. In one case, Frank Santana, who worked for an American bonding agency, got the assistance of a Jamaican policeman to take Haniff Ishmael, a Guyanese national who was wanted in the USA on cocaine charges, to Sangster International Airport, Montego Bay, with a view to taking him back to the United States. However, a Jamaican immigration officer prevented Santana from taking Ishmael back with him.
In the second case, Randy Fenster, an American private investigator, came under suspicion when he enquired about taking back with him to the United States, Fitzroy Riley, a Jamaican resident of the United States who was wanted in Larimer, Colorado, on fraud charges.
And in August 1992 Norris Barnes, a Montego Bay businessman, filed suit in the Supreme Court against Frank Saren and Jose Torres, two agents of the U.S. Drug Enforcement Admini-stration, and Mel Spence, a former Jamaican policeman, claiming that they had lured him to a yacht in Montego Bay, kidnapped him and taken him to the United States where he served two years on drug trafficking charges.
But the most celebrated case involved Richard Orville ‘Storyteller’ Morrison, then 40, a crony of Lester Lloyd Coke, better known as ‘Jim Brown’, who was then the ranking don in Tivoli Gardens, west Kingston and who had been on remand at the General Penitentiary awaiting appeal of an order to extradite him to South Florida, where they were both accused of being leaders of the Shower Posse.
Both were seeking leave to appeal their extradition orders to the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council of the United Kingdom.
Morrison had been ordered extradited to Tampa, Florida, for trial.
Jim Brown perished in a mystery fire which gutted his prison cell on February 23, 1991.
ADMINISTRATIVE ERROR
On June 12, 1991, an administrative error in the Registry of the Jamaican Court of Appeal – the misplacing of a document confirming Morrison’s intention to appeal – led to Morrison being surrendered prematurely to U.S. law enforcement agents who extradited him to the USA.
The Jamaican Government made diplomatic and legal efforts to have the Americans return him, since he had not been legally extradited, but these failed.
In April 1992 he was tried in the Middle District Court, Fort Myers, Florida, and sentenced to 24 1/2 years’ imprisonment without parole, on cocaine charges.
At the time, the Morrison case generated a lot of discussion in Jamaica and in the United States and escalated into an international dispute of sorts between the two countries, with the Jamaican government complaining that there had been a breach of its Extradition Treaty with the United States. Indeed extraditions from Jamaica to the United States were suspended for a time.
U.S. STANCE
The stance of the United States authorities then, was that once an accused person was in whether he had an appeal pending elsewhere, or how he had got to the United States in the first place.
In June 1995 K.D. Knight, then Minister of National Security and Justice, explained to Parliament, Jamaica’s position on the Morrison case and on the extradition treaty in general.
He said that on the instructions of Cabinet, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had sent two Diplomatic Notes to the U.S. Government.
ASSURANCE
The first note brought to the attention of the U.S.A. the fact that Morrison had been tried in the United States for an offence other than the offence for which he had been extradited in circumstances which constituted a breach of Article XIV of the Extradition Treaty.
The note made it clear that Jamaica protested the breach, and required assurance from the U.S.A. in respect of each and every extradition request, that all the necessary steps would be taken by the U.S.A. to ensure that the provisions of the Speciality Rule set out in article XIV of the treaty would be observed by the U.S.A., and there would be no recurrence of this breach.
The second Diplomatic Note proposed negotiations with the U.S.A. to amend the Extradition Treaty in such a manner that would:
First, prohibit the trial of a person brought to the territory of the other party in circumstances similar to those in which Dr. Humberto Alvarez-Machin, a Mexican national, had been abducted in 1990 from Mexico and taken to the U.S.A, and, second, ensure that the procedure in the Extradition Treaty would constitute the only means for securing the removal of a person from the territory of one party to the territory of another party, for trial.
In the Alvarez-Machain case, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled, 6-3, on June 15, 1992 that the U.S. government may kidnap people from a foreign country and prosecute them over that nation’s objection.
ABDUCTED IN MEXICO
Dr. Alvarez-Machain was abducted from his office in Guadalajara, Mexico, in 1990 and forced aboard a plane bound for El Paso, Texas, where he was arrested by U.S. officials and taken to California. He was charged with using his medical skills to keep Enrique Camerana alive while the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration agent was tortured and interrogated in Mexico in 1985.
Many lawyers in private practice are strongly of the view that the Jamaica-U.S.A. Extradition Treaty is weighted against Jamaican extradition accused and should be re-negotiated.
The late eminent Ian Ramsay, Q.C., explained to this reporter in December 1997, ‘The Rule of Speciality’, which he described as a deficiency of the extradition treaty:
“When the person is sent abroad extradited – the rule under our law, the Extradition Act, says that he should not be tried or punished for any offence but the one for which he was extradited.
“As a matter of fact, the rule that we have merely beats the air because America is a federal state and the federal government cannot curtail state rights. Hence, once the person gets to America, the particular state in which he is, can try him for any crime and cannot be stopped, as a matter of law, by the federal government. They may, of course, as a matter of courtesy, decide no to, but that’s not law, that’s courtesy.”
Government prosecutors in Jamaica who represent requesting states, tend to believe that, if anything, the Jamaica-U.S. Extradition Treaty puts the Jamaican national at an advantage.
In the last 10 years at least four persons who the U.S. Government sought to extradite, have walked free.
Article X of the Jamaica-U.S. Extradition Treaty, provides for provisional arrest. It states: “In case of urgency either Contracting Party may request the provisional arrest in accordance with the law of the Requested State of any accused or convicted persons pending the request for extradition. Application for provisional arrest shall be made through the diplomatic channel or directly between the Minister responsible for extradition in Jamaica and the Department of Justice in the United States.
It states that the application shall contain: a description of the person sought; the location of that person if known; such information as would be necessary to justify the issuance of a warrant of arrest had the offence been committed, or the person sought been convicted, in the territory of the Requested State; and a statement that a request for extradition of the person sought will follow.
REQUESTED STATE
On receipt of such an application, the Requested State shall take the appropriate steps to secure the arrest of the person sought. The Requesting State shall be promptly notified of the result of its application.
For how long can a person who is provisionally arrested be kept in custody?
Section X (4) states: “A person who is provisionally arrested shall be discharged from custody upon the expiration of sixty (60) days from the date of arrest, pursuant to the application for provisional arrest if the executive authority of the Requested State has not received the formal request for extradition and the supporting documents required by Article VIII.”
A person whose extradition is being sought may waive his right to an extradition hearing, surrender himself to the authorities and agree to return to the Requesting State, as it were voluntarily, but of course in the custody of representatives of the Requesting State.
Article XV states:
“If the person sought agrees in writing to extradition after personally being advised by a Judge or competent Magistrate of his right to further extradition proceedings, the Requested State may grant extradition without formal proceedings.”
The treaty, at Article VIII, sets out the procedures and documents required for an extradition hearing:
1. The request for extradition shall be made through the diplomatic channel.
2. The request for extradition shall be supported by: (a) documents, statements, or other evidence which describe the identity and probable location of the person sought;
(b) a statement of the facts of the case, including, if possible, the time and location of the offence;
(c) a statement of the provisions of the law describing the essential elements and the designation of the offence for which extradition is requested;
(d) a statement of the provisions of the law prescribing the punishment for the offence and
(e) a statement of the provision of the law prescribing any time limit on the prosecution or the execution of punishment for the offence.
3. A request for extradition relating to a person who is sought for prosecution shall also be supported by: (a) a copy of the warrant of arrest issued by a judge or other judicial authority in the Requesting State; and (b) such evidence as would justify the committal for trial of that person if the offence had been committed in the Requested State.
When the request for extradition relates to a convicted person, in addition to those items required by paragraph two, it shall be supported by a certificate of conviction, or copy of the judgement of conviction rendered by a court in the Requesting State. If the person has been convicted and sentenced, the request for extradition shall also be supported by a statement showing to what extent the sentence has been carried out. If the person has been convicted but not sentenced, the request for extradition shall also be supported by a statement to that effect.
Statements, depositions and other documents transmitted in support of the request for extradition shall be transmitted through the diplomatic channel and shall be admissible if certified or authenticated in such manner as may be required by the law of the Requested State.
_________________________________________
Other members of the notorious Shower posse were caught by the US authority and are serving sentences in US federal Prisons. For example Richard “Story Teller” Morrison a high ranking aid of Cooke and Blake was extradited and sent to prison and is now serving a term of 30 years to life on murder and racketeering. Maxwell Bogle who had been listed as one of the world’s 100 most dangerous men in 2001and was sentenced to 58 years to life in absentia was caught in the same year and is behind bars. Another extremely low ranking lieutenant Rycliffe Bruce on the FBI most wanted list for gunning down a DJ in a crowded dance with two automatic pistols in his hands.
Jamaican gang activities have extended itself to Canada the Malvern Crew and the Galloway crew wreaked havoc in the Scarborough area of Toronto committing random acts of violence gunning down innocent bystanders in an attempt to intimidate and assert their badness honour status. The terrorised the Toronto areas for about two years. One of the most feared gangsters that headed the Galloway Gang was Tyshan Riley a 23 years man of Jamaican descent. He was described by the Canadian Mounted Troupe as the worst killer that the City had ever seen. Things came to a head for the gangsters when they gunned down an innocent bystander in 2004.A joint Canadian Police Command was assembled code named Project Pathfinder. It consisted of officers from the Homicide Squad, the Special Investigation Service, the Intelligence Bureau and Prosecutors from the Attorney Generals Office. The officers swoop down on the gangs and Tyshan Riley and Phillip Atkins along with seven other gang members were arrested. Project Pathfinder according to a Canadian police source got its name from a Nissan SUV used by one of the alleged gangster who is from a Jamaican decent. Most of the men caught in the police sting are behind bars serving lengthy prison sentences for charges ranging from intimidating witness, gangsterism, robberies, and murder.
The United Kingdom and England in specific is vulnerable to the activities of Jamaican gangsters and their satellite network due to its large West Indian migrant population made up mainly of Jamaicans. The first wave of immigrants(492 persons)that formed the British African Caribbean community arrived in 1948 from Jamaica on a Ship known as the Empire Wind rush the first generation of these Caribbean immigrant are often referred to as the wind rush generation. They were for the most part hard working people who migrated to seek work and helped to rebuild the United Kingdom after the ravages of the Second World War. Most of these immigrants settled around South London and made Brixton their unofficial capital. The town of Brixton is often described as the soul of black Britain. It is famous for the Brixton riot of 1980, Nelson Mandela visited the town in 1996 and a street is named in his honour. A square in the centre of the town has been named and dedicated to the memory of the Wind rush Generation contribution to the development of the United Kingdom. This historic and proud contribution to the development of British life is now overshadowed by the activities of Jamaican Gangs who have stretched their influence across England and have forged their reputation by drug dealing and several episodes of gruesome blood -letting.
In 2003 things came to a head so much that the Independent a respected British news paper broke the story that around 200 “hard core yardies” are based in Lambeth South London. The paper recorded that they were operating as members of the “firehouse posse” or Brixton “Cartel crew”. Most of the gangs connected to the Jamaican Migrant communities in the united Kingdom are loosely called yardies the operate and integrate themselves across the UK among the migrant communities and have recruited their members from mostly recent Jamaican migrants and second generation Jamaicans living in the United Kingdom.Peter Walsh the author of Gang war makes an important point that term “yardie” has become so ubiquitous so that it means any Jamaican, African or black gang. These gangs are so entrenched in London that a famous estate in Brixton is referred to as “Little Tivoli” after Tivoli gardens a JLP garrison in Jamaica. Other prolific Jamaican influenced gangs are: the lock city crew, the much love crew in Harlsden,the Hackney posse in East London, The young Peck ham boys ,the Peck ham boys, the ghetto boys in Lewis ham, the murder zone crew, The poverty driven crew and the paid in full crew. Turf war is rife among yardie gangs and the recent trend is the younger gang members breaking of to form their own unit. For example the young Peckham boys broke away and form their own unit and were said to be involved in the murder of a ten year old African youth Damilola Taylor.
For both old and young Jamaican influenced gangsters automatic and semi- automatic guns is a necessity. They move from house to house at nights making it hard for the London Metropolitan Police to track them. This took place after a spate of shootings in the black community in London in the mid nineteen nineties. The Metropolitan Police launched Operation Trident consisting of an elite core of armed police officer to deal with the spate of shooting and gun related murders across London. At that time Cold Harbour Lane in Brixton was reporting three shootings per week along with a number of shootings in Lambeth and Brent. By 2001 things got out of hand so much that the police in a desperate bid to stem the escalation shot dead Derek Bennett a man of Jamaican decent after brandishing a gun shaped cigarette lighter in public. Despite wide spread outcry of murder by his relatives. A coroner’s inquest was held and a verdict of unlawful killing was handed down by the coroner and subsequently held upon appeal.
The killings continued unabated without the police making inroads with the recovery of firearms and operation Trident focused their swoop around the Broxton area in an attempt to deter gangsters from carrying firearms while appealing to the public for information this created a positive effect in terms of containment but by 2006 Brixton was again in the headlines. In September 2006 Brixton was the scene of a widely reported shooting of two boys in a McDonald Restaurant on Brixton Road Acre lane.
The new breed of Jamaican style yardie gangsters and “wannabees” in the United Kingdom is propelled by the growing availability of three commodities: greed, drugs and guns. The new trend is for the more powerful urban crew of gangsters to deliberately encroach in nearby northern cities. The headline making conflict that earned Manchester the infamous label of “Britain’s Chicago” in 2004- was a chilling episode aptly captured by Peter Walsh the author of Gangs War: The Inside Story of the Manchester Gangs and one of the authors of the book Cocky, about British drug baron Curtis Warren. Gangsters on mountain bikes chased each other down a Manchester hospital corridor as staff bravely tried to barricade doors and protect patience who were members of the Goosh Close Gang and their rivals the Long Sight Crew hunted each other through the wards masked in hoods, balaclavas and bandannas. The incident occurred because a member of each gang had been taken to hospitals with gun shot wounds in an incident that also involved the killing of Leon Johnson a Goochie member who had been mowed down in a hit an run attack. As a result of the incident ten young men were later jailed for either affair or pubic order offences. Things died down between both gangs but in July 2005 they were at it again: the Goosh and the Dooddington gang fought hand in hand and traded gun shots at each other in broad day light in the Manchester city centre.
The West Indian involvement has been key to the spread of gangs in many UK cities. A 2003 report suggested Jamaican Yardies had invaded Britain at an ‘alarming rate’ and their control of the crack trade had gradually spread north, reaching as far as Aberdeen. Of 43 police forces in England and Wales, 36 reported a problem with Yardie gangs. Yet in spite of their almost insane brutality, the Yardies have not always fared well against home grown rivals. In Birmingham, Jamaica interlopers were faced down by the ‘homeboys’ of Hands worth and Lozells: the Burger Bar Boys and the Johnson Crew. The Burgers and the Johnnies, however, then turned there guns on each other in a tit-for tat spiral. That culminating in the tragic killing of Charlene Ellis and Letisha Shakespeare at a New Years day party. Far from cowing the gangs, such high-profile incidents seem to heighten their bravado. The Birmingham gangsters have even made and distributed DVDs of their exploit
The city of Leeds was relatively free of violence until the murder of towering gangsters Clifton “Junior” Bryan in 2002 before that he survive a close assassination bid when he was lured in a house with another man, Dennis Wilson, who was shot in the head. Their bodies were bundled into the trunk of a car which was later found abandoned in a district in the outskirts of Leeds.
The clutches and influence of the Jamaican Yardie gangs which has its roots in the political garrisons of Jamaica have been exported and entrenched in the capitals and cities of North America and Europe. Hundreds of deportees have been repatriated by European and North American law enforcement agencies. Some of these deportees have found their way back to their point of deportation shortly after. Others continue to contribute to the burgeoning crime statistics in Jamaica yet a few have been rehabilitated and have turned their life around. The legend and reputation of Jamaican influence gang activity is etched on the mind of law enforcement agencies globally who often shudder and cringe when confronted by their fearless activities.
Donovan Reynolds is a British based Jamaican Social Worker who is a Human Rights campaigner,Independent Writer,Blogger and Author of” Poor and Boasy”: a tour de force of Jamaican culture seen trough secular point of view.He also has an interest in culture,politics and international development issuesThis is an edited version of chapter 5.Readers wanting to comment or critique this article can do so at the space provided for comments on this blog.Alternatively they may give their feedback at [email protected], or on the facbook or Twitter link.
TAKEN FROM http://dannygerm.blogspot.com/2012/06/global-criminal-links-part2-gangs-of.html
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Introduction……………………………………………………………………………………..2
The History and Purpose of the Treaty……….………………………………………….…4
Extradition Saga Of Christopher “Dudus” Coke…………………………………..………8
Did The Jamaican Government Have Legal Grounds For Refusing
The Extradition Request?…………………………………………………………………………………………..10
Was Mr. Coke a Person Defined in the Treaty and Therefore Subject to
Extradition Though Not a Citizen of the United States?…………………………………………….10
Did The Treaty and the Jamaican Extradition Act Provide The Jamaican Government With Defenses To The Extradition of Mr. Coke?.……………………………………………….……………………………………..14
Article VII of the Extradition Treaty……………………………………………15
The Jamaican Extradition Act………………………..………………………….15
Did The Jamaican Government Rationally Rely On Doctrine Of Specialty
In Refusing To Sign The Request?…. ……………………………………………………………………..17
Jamaican Government Raises The Doctrine of Specialty as a Possible
Reason for Not Extraditing Mr. Coke to the United States…………..……………17
Specialty And The Case of Richard “Story Teller” Morrison…….…………….18
Explaining the Doctrine Specialty……………………………………………….20
The Jamaican Government’s Concern Regarding the Application
of the Doctrine of Specialty as a Defense in American Courts…………..……..21
Conclusion…………………………………………………..………………………………….25
Introduction
Although the United States has been battling illicit drug trafficking for many years, during the last four decades, “international drug control bec[a]me a major priority in the formulation of United States foreign policy1.” To that end, the United States, among other things: (1) enacted laws that would enable it to meet its obligations under international treaties2 and reduce domestic drug consumption; and (2) entered into new treaties that would facilitate the fight against multinational enterprises and conspirators involved in drug trafficking.3 4 In June 1983, to broaden and further its drug policy agenda in the Caribbean, and to improve its “ability to combat international narcotics trafficking,5” the United States entered into its “first modern extradition treaty within the Caribbean region.”6
Although, pursuant to the Treaty, the United States, tried and imprisoned some of Jamaica’s most infamous crime figures, the Treaty, or more appropriately its enforcement is not without criticism. In fact, some have questioned whether the Treaty is fair,7 while others have asserted that in enforcing the Treaty, the United States simply ignores the constitutional rights of Jamaican citizens8 9 and forces the Government of Jamaica to break its own laws.10 Still yet, others argue that enforcement of the Treaty is really an exercise of the United States’ political and economic strength.11 As a result, many Jamaicans argue that there is no need to extradite Jamaican citizens12 to the United States, whose laws and legal traditions are significantly different from Jamaica’s, and whose citizens are the primary consumers and demanders of the illegal drugs exported from Jamaica, and the suppliers of illegal guns imported into Jamaica.13 Many Jamaicans complain that the Treaty should not be interpreted as a hammer used by the United States to secure the extradition of purported criminals.14 Instead, it, like other treaties, should “be construed as to effect the apparent intention of the parties to secure equality and reciprocity between them.”15
To be sure, the Treaty is not enforced by purely formulaic and mechanical routines wherein Jamaica and the United States merely acquiesce to each other’s extradition requests. Instead, when a so-called Third World country is hesitant to comply with an extradition request from the United States, the United States uses its substantial bargaining power to coerce and ensure compliance.16 That coercion, of course, may upset the government and the people of the nation being forced into submission.17
This article will analyze the history of the Treaty (i.e. the circumstances and context that gave rise to the drafting and execution of the Treaty), and some of the reasons that the Jamaican government and its citizens offered in initially refusing to comply with the Government of the United States’ Extradition Request for Christopher “Dudus” Coke. The article will examine whether the Treaty and/or the laws of Jamaica provided the government of that country with the unfettered discretion to refuse an extradition request from the United States, and it will further explore whether the international doctrine of specialty and its interpretation and application by American courts properly cautioned or informed the conduct of the Jamaican government in refusing to comply with the Extradition Request for Mr. Coke.
The History And Purpose Of The Treaty
During the 1970s, Jamaica became another pawn on the cold-war chess board. Michael Manley had been elected Prime Minister of Jamaica in 1976, and his domestic agenda was too left of central to make the United States comfortable. In fact, Prime Minister Manley’s policies on education and minimum wage laws18 were labeled as socialist.19 His party’s, the People’s National Party, congenial relations with Cuba and the ambivalence or even support of some of its members for communism scared the United States Government and the Jamaican captains of industry.20 “The local communist group, the tiny Workers’ Party of Jamaica, made matters worse by pushing the line that socialism and communism were really the same thing, and, if not quite the same, that socialism was simply the first step on the road to communism.”
In light of its cold war with Russia and its acrimonious relationship with communist Cuba, the United States could not and would not permit Jamaica, it believed, to saunter down the road to Marxism.21 Consequently, the United States Government aligned itself with Michael Manley’s opposition—The Jamaican Labor Party and its enigmatic leader, Edward Seaga.22 Edward Seaga was also the Member of Parliament for West Kingston, which he had socially engineered into a power base for himself and the Jamaican Labor Party (“JLP”).23 West Kingston, and Tivoli Gardens in particular, became Jamaica’s first political garrison or garrison constituency.
“Neighborhoods such as Tivoli Gardens were originally created as bulwarks of political support for politicians who sustained the communities through cientage [sic] in exchange for votes.”24 In the late 1970s, the CIA worked with Seaga and the JLP to destabilize Manley’s government.25 To strengthen the JLP, the CIA, it is alleged, provided weapons and economic aid to the JLP and its supporters. At that time, the United States entered into a marriage of convenience with the JLP and the gangs that operated in the JLP’s garrison constituencies.
During the 1970 and 1980s, political gangs in Jamaica grew in stature.26 The political gangs were inextricably intertwined with the political parties, whom they supported and for whom they secured and obtained votes.27 The men (called dons), who controlled these garrisons for and sometimes at the behest of the politicians, were often regarded as “Robin Hood” type figures by residents of the garrisons. 28 29 Lester Lloyd Coke, also known as Jim Brown, was one of these figures. He and Vivian Blake, would become the leaders of the Shower Posse, and they operated out of Tivoli Gardens.
Robin Hoods, like Jim Brown and Blake, who were America’s enforcers in the war against communism in Jamaica, needed capital30 to initiate social welfare programs in their communities and to bolster their relationships with political figures and thus, it is alleged, they exponentially exported marijuana to the United States.31 In 1981, marijuana exports from Jamaica to the United States rose from 900 to 1200 metric tons.32 In 1984, it was estimated that exports of the same crop would have increased to between 1,627 to 2,977 metric tons.33 The United States did not wish to pressure Seaga’s government to eradicate marijuana fields and exportation, because Jamaica had become a close ally in the war against communism and, pressure, it was believed, would have forced Jamaica back into Manley’s more leftist stance. 34 The United States government believed that a leftist Jamaican government was a bigger threat to America’s national security than drug trafficking.35
That reasoning; however, was erroneous because the Shower Posse later recognized that crack cocaine and powder cocaine trades were more lucrative ventures36 and formed relationships with Columbian and other South American cocaine producers.37 38 Jamaica, as a consequence, became an exporter of cocaine to the United States, and the Shower Posse39 made a violent40 entry into crack cocaine distribution in major cities throughout the United States.
Throughout the early 1980s, as a result of the increased drug trafficking from, among others, Latin America and the Caribbean, crime grew throughout major American cities.41 For example, in 1981, as a result of drug-related crimes, Miami, West Palm Beach and Fort Lauderdale were among the top-ten crime infested cities in the United States,42 and, in 1982, twenty-five percent of all murders were related to illegal drug trafficking.43 As a result of increased drug trafficking into its shores, the United States needed and sought the cooperation of the Jamaican government to thwart the efforts of narco-traffickers. Consequently, the Treaty was signed in 1983 and went into effect in 1991.44 The Treaty supersedes the United States-United Kingdom Treaty on Extradition of 1931, which was made applicable to Jamaica, a former British colony, in 1935.45
Extradition Saga Of Christopher “Dudus” Coke
In August 2009, pursuant to the Treaty, the Government of the United States of America sent an extradition request (the “Request”) to the Government of Jamaica46 wherein the Government of the United States of America requested that the Government of Jamaica extradite Christopher “Dudus” Coke to the United States.47 Ironically, Mr. Coke is the son of Lester Lloyd Coke, who formally was America’s partner in the war against communism, and who also was the subject of an extradition request from the United States government to Jamaica.48 Mr. Coke (“Dudus”) had been indicted in the United States District Court for the Southern District of New York.49 In the indictment, the Government of the United States of America alleged that Mr. Coke was a member of the Shower Posse and that he “and others known and unknown, unlawfully, intentionally, and knowingly combined, conspired and confederated, and agreed together and with each other to violate the narcotics laws of the United States.”50 The indictment further alleged that Mr. Coke and others known and unknown, unlawfully, willfully, and knowingly, did combine and conspire” to traffic in firearms.51
Interestingly, many Jamaican citizens, though perhaps unfamiliar with the provisions of the Treaty, repeatedly asserted that the Treaty could not apply to a Jamaican citizen, who had not resided in the United States and that only a citizen of the United States should be extradited from Jamaica to face charges in that country. Members of the Jamaican public complained that the Treaty could not have applied to Mr. Coke, because he had not traveled to the United States in furtherance of the alleged crimes. The Government of Jamaica refused the extradition request, stating among other things, that: (1) the Treaty provided defenses to Mr. Coke’s extradition;52 (2) it (the Government of Jamaica) needed additional evidence;53 (3) the evidence submitted in support of the Request violated Jamaican law including the Jamaican Telecommunications Intercept Act;54 and (4) the American courts’ interpretation of the Doctrine of Specialty cautioned and informed Jamaica’s decision to extradite Mr. Coke.55
Of course, Jamaica’s refusal to comply with the Request had far reaching economic,56 political57 and diplomatic consequences.58 An international treaty is a unique creature, because even where the letter of the treaty may prescribe or permit specific interpretations or conduct, the spirit of the treaty or a government’s past interpretation or enforcement may preclude the very conduct that the treaty facially permits.59 Therefore, even if the Treaty, on its face, allowed Jamaica to refuse the Request, some may argue that the spirit of the Treaty or Jamaica’s past enforcement of the Treaty barred it from adopting that position.60
Did The Jamaican Government Have Legal Grounds For Refusing The Extradition Request?
Was Mr. Coke a Person Defined in the Treaty and Therefore Subject to Extradition Though Not a Citizen of the United States?
As stated herein above, the Treaty was signed in 1983 and went into effect in 1991.61 The Treaty supersedes the United States-United Kingdom Treaty on Extradition of 1931, which was made applicable to Jamaica, a former British colony, in 1935.62 The United States wanted to ensure that the Treaty was broad enough to sweep with its ambit Jamaican citizens charged (not merely convicted) with an extraditable offense,63 and Jamaican citizens, who committed crimes outside the borders of Jamaica. That, of course, in the halls of the Government of the United States, is the spirit of the Treaty. The spirit of the Treaty, as declared by the parties thereto, also includes international cooperation to combat crime and bring narco-traffickers and drug runners to justice.64
To accomplish the spirit of the Treaty, Article I of the Treaty provides:
ARTICLE I
Obligation to Extradite
The Contracting Parties agree to extradite to each other, subject to the provisions of this Treaty:
Persons whom the competent authorities in the Requesting State have charged with an extraditable offense [sic] committed within its territory; or
Persons who have been convicted in the Requesting State of such an offence and are unlawfully at large.
With respect to an offence committed outside the territory of the Requesting State, the Requested State shall grant extradition, subject to the provisions of this Treaty, if there is jurisdiction under the laws of both States for the punishment of such an offense in corresponding circumstances.
Without more, the foregoing appears to have imposed upon Jamaica the legal obligation to comply with the Request. Indeed, the Government of the United States was fairly certain that, at the time it made the Request, Mr. Coke was a person whom it had charged with a crime committed within its territory. Indeed, it has been the long held position of the United States Supreme Court that where, without limitation, an extradition treaty refers to “person,” the word person shall encompass citizens of the United States and the other party to the Treaty.65 In Charlton v. Kelly, the United States Supreme Court, interpreting the Extradition Treaty Between the United States and Italy, emphatically rejected the notion that “under principles of international law, citizens are [not] to be regarded as embraced within an extradition treaty unless expressly included.”66 The word persons, the Court opined, etymologically includes citizens as well as those who are not. 67 Consequently, it has been the understanding in the United States for almost one hundred years that “persons” includes citizens.”68 Moreover, “in respect to the persons to be surrendered, the extradition treaties of the United States all employ the general term persons, or all persons. Hence, where no express exception is made, the treaties warrant no distinction as to nationality.”69
The foregoing conclusion is not merely based in American jurisprudence. Instead, it is soundly rooted in principles of international law.70 The Jamaican government could not reasonably argue that the word “persons”, as used and described in the Treaty, does not include Jamaican citizens. Indeed, such an argument would be antithetical to the spirit of international cooperation in the fight against crime to which Jamaica is dedicated.71 “Jamaica in fulfillment [sic] of its obligations under the 1988 United Nations Convention Against Illicit Traffic in Drugs and Psychotropic Substances (the Vienna Convention) has enacted the Mutual Assistance (Criminal Matters) Act, 1995 (MACMA). “Th[at] is the primary domestic legislation that guides Jamaica’s mutual legal assistance to foreign countries.”72 The MACMA gives the Jamaican government very broad latitude in assisting other nations in combatting international drug trafficking.
Moreover, the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties mandates that states should not “defeat the object and purpose of a treaty prior to its entry into force.”73 Certainly then, Jamaica had a heightened obligation to effectuate the object and purpose of the Treaty which had been in force for more than a decade.74 That conclusion, of course, is further supported by the Vienna Convention which provides that “[a] treaty shall be interpreted in good faith in accordance with the ordinary meaning to be given the terms of the Treaty in their context and in the light of its object and purpose.”75 Consequently, there should be no doubt as to ordinary meaning to be given to the term “persons,”76 and any conclusion that Mr. Coke was not a “person” within the Treaty is merely one that seeks to avoid a good faith interpretation of the Treaty and patently ignore the Treaty’s object and purpose.
The claim that the word persons as used in the Treaty applies only to American citizens is also belied by the very Jamaican law which gives force to the application and enforcement of the Treaty in Jamaica—The Jamaican Extradition Act of 1991.77 That act is conspicuously devoid of any language describing or defining “persons” as citizens of the United States.78 In fact, during the last two decades, pursuant to the Jamaican Extradition Act, Jamaica extradited more than ten persons to the United States, including, but not limited to, the well-known cases of Leebert Ramsharam and Donovan Williams.79 Consequently, at no time, heretofore, did the Jamaican government even remotely suggest that the Treaty applied only to the extradition of American Citizens.80
The Jamaican Extradition Act repeatedly uses the word persons. For example, that act in pertinent part provides:
6. Subject to the provisions of this Act, a person found in Jamaica who is accused of an extradition offence in any approved State or who is alleged to be unlawfully at large after conviction of such an offence in any such State may be arrested and returned to that State as provided by this Act.
Of course, the Jamaican Parliament could have written the Act to state that anyone who is accused of an extradition offense and who when found in Jamaica is a citizen of the United States or other country may be returned to the United States or other country. The Jamaican Parliament did not.81
That Mr. Coke is indeed a person contemplated by and described in the Treaty is bolstered by the Jamaican Government’s interpretation of the word persons in other treaties wherein the purpose and spirit is to also foster international cooperation against crime and drug trafficking. For example, in 1989, Jamaica and the United States entered into the Treaty Between the Government of the United States of America and The Government of Jamaica On Mutual Legal Assistance in Criminal Matters (“MLA”).82 In fact, much of the evidence that the Government of the United States obtained in its prosecution of the case against Mr. Coke was obtained via cooperation with Jamaican officials who responded to and complied with requests made pursuant to the MLA.83
The MLA provides in pertinent parts as follows:
ARTICLE 1
The Contracting Parties undertake to assist each other, upon request and in accordance with the provisions of this Treaty, in investigations and proceedings for criminal law enforcement purposes.
Assistance pursuant to this Treaty shall include:
locating persons; …
ARTICLE 4
Requests for assistance shall normally be in writing and if made otherwise shall be communicated in written form within a period of time to be agreed upon by the Central Authorities….
3. To the extent necessary and possible, a request shall include:
Available information on the identity and whereabouts of a person to be located;
the identity and location of a person to be served, that person’s relationship to the proceedings, and the manner in which service is to be made;
the identity and location of a person from whom evidence is sought;….
The MLA, like the Jamaican Extradition Act, is conspicuously devoid of any provision defining the word person as a citizen of the United States. As a result, the argument offered by Jamaicans that the Treaty does not apply to Mr. Coke is in no way supported by law. That argument, is instead, summarily dismissed as an impassioned cry from those, who for economic and/or political reasons, wished to have Mr. Coke remain in Jamaica.
Did The Treaty And The Act Provide The Jamaican Government With Defenses To The Extradition of Mr. Coke?
The inquiry into whether the Jamaican government was obligated to extradite Mr. Coke does not and should not end at a determination that he was a person under the Treaty. In fact, the Jamaican government argued that pursuant to the Treaty, it could deny the Extradition Request. Of course, unless a country has obligated itself, pursuant to a treaty to perform some act or allow some action, it, as a sovereign state, is free to make decisions that it deems in the best interest of the state84 and its citizens although those decisions may disappoint or sometimes anger other sovereigns that would have preferred a different result.85 86 Hence, the question that must logically follow is whether the Government of Jamaica, in the Treaty, unconditionally obligated itself to extradite every individual for whom the United States Government seeks extradition. In short, the answer to that question is no. Article VII of the Treaty emphasizes that each state has tremendous latitude in deciding whether to deliver its own nationals to the Requesting State.
Article VII of the Treaty provides:
Neither Contracting Party shall be bound to deliver up its own nationals but the executive authority of the Requested State shall, if not prevented by the laws of that State, have the power to deliver them up if, in its discretion, it be deemed proper to do so.
Extradition shall not be refused on the ground that the fugitive is a national of the Requested State if the fugitive is also a national of the Requesting State.
If Extradition is not granted for an offence pursuant to paragraph (1), the Requested State shall, if it has jurisdiction over the offence, submit the case to its highest competent authorities for decision as to prosecution, in according with the law of that State.
(Emphasis added)
“Treaties, like statutes, must be construed by giving their terms their ordinary meaning….”87 Paragraph (1) unambiguously states that neither the United States nor Jamaica is unconditionally obligated to comply with extradition requests from either party. In fact, American jurisprudence has consistently recognized that where a treaty has employed the language in Article VII, Paragraph (1) of the Treaty, the United States has the discretion to refuse the requesting state’s extradition request, and the United States “has both granted and denied the surrender of American nationals under a treaty of [that] type.”88
Interestingly, the Jamaican Extradition Act, which also governs extradition proceedings in Jamaica, also provides great latitude for Jamaica to refuse extradition of one of its citizens.89 Section 7(5) of the Act states that the “Minister may, in his discretion, refuse to extradite a fugitive on the grounds that the fugitive is a citizen of Jamaica.”90 Likewise, Section 12(1) of the Act states:
Where a person is committed to await his extradition and is not discharged by order of the Supreme Court, the minister may, by warrant, order him to be extradited to the approved state by which the request for the extradition was made unless the extradition of that person is prohibited, or prohibited for the time being, by Section 7 or by this section, or the minister decides under this section to make no such order in his case.
As a result, the question for discussion may properly have been whether Jamaica should have complied with the request—not whether it was obligated to do so.91 Moreover, that Sections 7(5) and 12(1) of the Act state that the Minister may use discretion in extraditing Jamaican citizens to the United States negatives the claims that Prime Minister Golding usurped the powers of the Jamaican courts.92 Undeniably, it was Dorothy Lightbourne, Jamaica’s then Minister of Justice, who, believing that Mr. Coke’s constitutional rights were breached, refused to sign the Request for Mr. Coke.93 “Parliament chose to give discretionary authority to the minister of justice. It is the minister who must consider the good faith and honor of [her] country in its relation with other states. It is the minister who has the expert knowledge of the political ramifications of an extradition request.”94 It may be argued then that in pressuring Prime Minister Golding to sign the Request, the United States government was, in fact, asking the Prime Minister to usurp the laws of Jamaica, ignore the delegation of powers within his cabinet and invade the province of the minister of justice.
But even if one argues that Prime Minister Golding, not Minister Lightbourne, was the ultimate executive, and that he could have executed the Request, that argument does not escape the plain meaning of the Treaty which affords each country unfettered discretion in refusing to comply with extradition requests. The United States, where necessary, has never ignored that it has such broad discretion. In fact, [t]oday, [in the United States], the ability of the executive branch to reject the results of the extradition hearing is taken for granted.”95 Consequently, although the United States Supreme Court once held, that where extradition is sought pursuant to a valid treaty, a petitioner cannot prevent extradition simply by alleging that … the processes… of the foreign country fail[] to accord with constitutional guarantees, … [t]he Department of State has the discretion to deny extradition on humanitarian grounds, if it appear that it would be unsafe to surrender a person to foreign authorities.96 97
Did The Jamaican Government Rationally Rely On Doctrine Of Specialty In Refusing To Sign The Request?
Jamaican Government Raises Specialty as a Possible Reason for Not Extraditing Mr. Coke to the United States.
In October 2009, the Government of Jamaica stated that it would not hastily comply with United States Government’s request to extradite Mr. Coke to New York.98 Minister Lightbourne, the Jamaican Attorney General and Minister of Justice stated that caution and deliberation were required because, “as a result of the hasty and precipitous action of the former minister of justice, a Jamaican national was improperly and illegally extradited to the US in 1992” 99 The Jamaican national to whom she referred was Richard “Storyteller” Morrison. The Jamaican Government further explained that “[d]espite considerable efforts, [it] was not able to secure the return of [Mr. Morrison] to enable the breach to be remedied, [and] the error was compounded when [Mr. Morrison] was tried in the US in a manner which further breached the provisions of the Treaty.” 100
Specialty And The Case of Richard “Story Teller” Morrison
In 1991, Richard “Storyteller” Morrison, like Jim Brown, was in custody in a penitentiary in Kingston Jamaica, where he awaited, pursuant to Jamaican law, an appeal of an order of extradition to South Florida.101 As a result of an administrative error, the documents which evidenced Mr. Morrison’s intent to appeal had been misplaced, and Mr. Morrison was prematurely surrendered to the agents of the United States, who took him to the United States.102 At that time, Mr. Morrison, pursuant to Jamaican law, intended to appeal his extradition order to the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council of the United Kingdom.103
The Jamaican government, through multiple diplomatic efforts, sought Mr. Morrison’s return to Jamaica, arguing, among other things, that Mr. Morrison was not legally extradited, and the United States’ refusal to return him to Jamaica comprised a breach of the Treaty.104 Interestingly, the Jamaican government’s strident demand for Mr. Morrison’s return to Jamaica did not raise the ire or eye of most Jamaicans, because the Jamaican government, at that time, was led by Prime Minister Percival Patterson, whose political party, the PNP, was not aligned to Tivoli Gardens, the garrison from which Mr. Morrison and his colleagues operated.
The Government of Jamaica and Mr. Morrison sought assistance from the American courts, but their challenges to the United States’ refusal to return Mr. Morrison were unsuccessful. For example, in Government of Jamaica v. United States of America,105 the Government of Jamaica filed an Emergency Petition for Writ of Habeas Corpus and Request for Injunctive and Declaratory Relief, which was individually adopted by Mr. Morrison.106 The United States District Court for the Middle District of Florida conducted an evidentiary hearing on the Emergency Petition.107 “At the hearing, the Government of Jamaica presented evidence on the question of whether the extradition of Richard Morrison from Jamaica was in violation of Jamaican law.”108 In that case, “[o]n or about October 31, 1989, pursuant the Extradition Treaty between the United States and the United Kingdom (which remained in force and applied to Jamaica, a former British territory), the United States presented an extradition request for [Mr.] Morrison to the Jamaican Foreign Ministry.”109
In February 19, 1991, a Jamaican magistrate concluded that it would be lawful to extradite Mr. Morrison, and, as a result, Mr. Morrison was detained in prison.110 Subsequently, Morrison filed in the Supreme Court of Jamaica a notice of his intent to apply to Her Majesty in Council (hereinafter the “Privy Council” for leave to appeal the Full Court’s decision; however, the notice of intent to appeal was inadvertently included in another person’s file.111
Consequently, on or about June 13, 1991, the Jamaican Ministry of Foreign Affairs, via diplomatic note, advised the United States Embassy in Kingston, Jamaica that Morrison had been surrendered prematurely and that the Government of Jamaica requested his immediate return.112 In that case, the Government of Jamaica, argued that “because Morrison was mistakenly extradited before his appeal to the Privy Council was complete, the extradition was not in accordance with Jamaican law and, therefore, not in accordance with the Extradition Treaty in effect between the United States and the sovereign nation of Jamaica.”113 There, the Middle District of Florida concluded that Morrison should not be returned to Jamaica because the court was uncertain that any Jamaica law had been broken and to the extent that any Jamaican law had been broken, the Government of the United States was not the cause of the violation.114 The court further concluded that the weight and deference should properly be given to the opinion of the executive branch. 115 The executive branch refused to return Mr. Morrison to Jamaica.
In Morrison v. Lappin,116 Richard Morrison argued that because the indictment upon which extradition was based had been filed in the Southern District of Florida, his subsequent indictment, trial and sentencing in the Middle District of Florida violated the Principle of Specialty. The Eleventh Circuit Court of Appeals, to which Morrison previously appealed the decision of the Middle District of Florida, concluded that although the Middle District of Florida enhanced his sentence, the doctrine of specialty had not been violated.117 Notwithstanding the fact that Morrison argued on appeal that he was not permitted to raise the defense of specialty until after the Government of Jamaica raised it and that the United States Government suppressed evidence that the Government of Jamaica asserted the doctrine of specialty as the basis for his return to Jamaica, the Eleventh Circuit Court of Appeal determined that he lacked standing to challenge personal jurisdiction in the Middle District because he did not raise the defense of specialty during trial.118
Explaining the Doctrine of Specialty
“Specialty requires that an extradited defendant be tried for the crimes on which Extradition [sic] was granted, and none other.”119 That notion is soundly rested in principles of international comity.120 Consequently, specialty is a manifestation that the states have agreed that the defendant should not be subject to arbitrary prosecution by the state to which the defendant is surrendered.121 In some federal circuits, “specialty is prima facie self-executing and may be raised by a defendant as an affirmative defense to prosecution.”122 Nonetheless, the surrendering government may waive the application of the doctrine of specialty and preclude the defendant’s right to escape prosecution.123 124 In other circuits, the converse is true and thus, the defendant is not permitted to raise specialty as an affirmative defense “unless the surrendering government has objected to the prosecution.”125 Other courts have held that the doctrine of specialty is a defense that merely limits the jurisdiction of the court, and, as a result, the defendant is precluded from raising it at trial for the first time.126
The Jamaican Government’s Concern Regarding the Application of the Doctrine of Specialty as a Defense in American Courts
At the outset, one must note that the Government of Jamaica did not raise the doctrine of specialty as a defense to Mr. Coke’s extradition, it merely stated that it believed that the doctrine had been violated in the case of Richard Morrison and that it wanted, in light of American law, to ensure that the doctrine would not be violated in Mr. Coke’s case. The Government of Jamaica’s concern was exacerbated by two things. First, notwithstanding the fact that Eleventh Circuit Court of Appeal seemed to recognize that a defendant may raise the defense of specialty where the sending state has raised or has standing to raise it,127 that court ruled that Mr. Morrison could not raise the defense as a challenge to the trial court’s jurisdiction.128 Second, the United States District Court for the Southern District of New York (the court in which Mr. Coke was indicted) has apparently adopted the Eleventh Circuit Court of Appeals’ position that the doctrine of specialty is not violated where the sentence of the extradited person is enhanced or a grand jury returns a superseding indictment that enlarges the charge for which the extradited person was extradited to the United States.129
For example, in Antwi v. United States, the Government of the United States charged Joseph Antwi, a Ghanaian citizen, with, among other things, “conspiracy to distribute or possess with the intent to distribute one kilogram or more of heroin and more than five kilograms of cocaine.”130 The Government of the United States submitted an affidavit in support of the extradition request that it tendered to the Ghanaian government.131 In the affidavit, the Government of the United States explained that conspiracy is separate from the substantive charges and that a defendant may be convicted of conspiracy although not convicted of the substantive crimes.132
Antwi was extradited to the United States, and on June 20, 2002, a jury convicted him of conspiracy to distribute or to possess with the intent to distribute one kilogram or more of heroin.133 In a subsequent habeas petition filed on July 19, 2004, Antwi challenged his conviction arguing among other things that his “presence in the United States was secured by the Government in violation of the bilateral extradition treaty governing relations between the United States and Ghana, and its associated law principles of specialty and dual criminality.”134
In its threshold determination of whether Antwi had standing to raise the doctrine of specialty, the district court noted that although the circuit courts that have addressed the question are split, and “[t]he more persuasive analysis … finds that extradited parties do have standing to raise that defense,135 and that since Ghana did not waive the doctrine of specialty in the case, Antwi’s standing to raise the defense was abrogated.136 In that case, like the Extradition Treaty between the Government of the United States and the Government of Jamaica, the applicable extradition treaty between the United States and Ghana incorporated the principle of specialty. Consequently, that treaty in pertinent part stated:
A person surrendered can in no case be kept in custody or be brought to trial in the territories of the High Contracting Party to whom the surrender has been made for any other crime or offence, or on account of any other matters, than those for which the extradition shall have taken place, until he has been re-stored, or had an opportunity of returning, to the territories of the High Contracting Party by whom he has been surrendered.137
In light of the foregoing provision of the Treaty, Answi argued that because the affidavit of extradition stated that he earned up to $100,000 from heroin sales, any conviction for more than what the affidavit stated constituted a violation of the extradition treaty because his conviction was “not within the scope of the same charges for which extradition was granted.”138 Answi also argued that the doctrine of specialty was violated because, as a result of a finding that he committed perjury during the trial, the court enhanced his sentence for obstruction of justice.139 The district court rejected Answi’s arguments and concluded that he was prosecuted for the “same crimes that formed the basis of the extradition request.”140 The court also concluded that Answi was not charged with a separate crime of obstruction of justice; instead, “the sentence for the crime for which he was committed was merely enhanced,” and that the [doctrine] of specialty does not prevent the [United States] from bringing a charge based on conduct that occurs after extradition.”141
To be sure, the Extradition Treaty recognizes and incorporates the doctrine of specialty. Specifically, Article XIV of the treaty provides:142
Article XIV
Rule of Specialty
A person extradited under this Treaty may only be detained, tried or
punished in the Requesting State for the offence [sic] for which extradition is granted, or –
For a lesser offence [sic] proved by the facts before the court of committal, or in the case of extradition pursuant to Article XV, any lessor offence [sic] disclosed by the facts upon which the request is based; or
For an offence [sic] committed after the extradition; or
An offence [sic] in respect to which the executive authority of the Requested State, in accordance with its law, consents to the person’s detention, trial or punishment; and for the purposes of this sub-paragraph the Requested State may require the submission of the documents mentioned in Article VIII or the written views of the extradited person with respect to the offence [sic] committed, or both,….
A person extradited under this Treaty may not be extradited to a third State unless—–
The Requested State consents; or
The circumstances are such that he could have been dealt with in the Requesting State pursuant to sub-paragraph (d) of paragraph (1)
Likewise, The Jamaican Extradition Act, contemplates and incorporates the doctrine of specialty.143 Specifically, the Act states in pertinent part as follows:
(3) A person shall not be extradited to an approved State or be committed to or kept in custody for the purposes of such extradition, unless provision is made by the law of that State, or by an arrangement made with that State, for securing that he will not-
(a) be tried or detained with a view to trial for or in respect of any offence committed before his extradition under this Act other than-
(i) the offence in respect of which his extradition is requested;….
(5) The Minister may, in his discretion, refuse to extradite
a fugitive on the ground that the fugitive is a citizen of Jamaica,….
The Treaty and the Act unequivocally precludes any person from being tried for a greater offense than that or those for which he was extradited.144 Moreover, the Treaty and the Act give the Government of the of Jamaica the discretion to refuse extradition of one of its citizens.145 Certainly, the Government of Jamaica, which felt embarrassed and affronted by the Government of the United States’ refusal to return Mr. Morrison had the legal right to refuse extradition of Mr. Coke until it determined how and for what he would be tried in the United States.146 Certainly, the Government of Jamaica, which had the discretion to refuse extradition of one of its citizens, could ask for more evidence to determine whether the Government of the United States would enlarge or enhance the scope of the charges which formed the basis of the extradition request.
CONCLUSION
To install confidence in the public, auditors are required to be independent in appearance and independent in fact. Prime Minister Golding may have truly been independent in fact, and his administration may have desired to ensure that letter of the Treaty was enforced; however, he and his administration were not independent in appearance. Prime Minister Golding’s administration, it would seem, spent thousands of dollars and used great resources to fight or delay compliance with the Request for Mr. Coke in a manner inconsistent with its handling of other extradition requests for Jamaican citizens indicted for the crimes listed in Mr. Coke’s indictment.147 To further complicate matters, Prime Minister Golding seemed to have blurred the lines between his role as chief executive of Jamaica and chief executive of the Jamaica Labor Party.148 Prime Minister Golding may have forgotten that although the letter of the Treaty permitted his position, the spirit of the Treaty may have required a different approach. In fact, he and his administration were required to juxtapose the interests of Mr. Coke with the country’s interest in fighting transnational crime and corruption. Indeed, that is a complex task that requires/required a multifaceted approach, because the constitutional rights of citizens is no less important that a country’s obligation to international treaties and global cooperation.
Nonetheless, it is certainly unfair to conclude that the administration of former Prime Minister Bruce Golding refused to comply with the Extradition Request for Christopher “Dudus” Coke solely because Mr. Coke and or his father had been leaders of the Tivoli Gardens community and allegedly the leaders of the Shower Posse that operated from that community. As described above, the Treaty and the Jamaican Extradition Act provide(d) the Government of Jamaica with unfettered discretion to refuse extradition of one of its citizens.149 Furthermore, as a sovereign state, which must protect the constitutional rights of its citizens, Jamaica, via Prime Minister Golding, could and should ensure that the information supplied in the Request was sufficient to fulfill the requirements of the Treaty.150 Moreover, because a previous Jamaican administration was severely criticized when it blundered in the handling of the extradition request for Richard Morrison, who was later deprived full due process under Jamaican law, Prime Minister Golding’s administration may have simply wanted to ensure that it did not repeat the same errors.151
1. Mark Andrew Sherman, United States Drug Control Policy, Extradition, and the Rule of Law in Columbia, 15 Nova L. Rev. 661, 662 (1991); Controlled Substances Act of 1970, 21 U.S.C. § 801 (2011); Uniform Controlled Substances Act (1994) § 201; United Nations: Convention Against Illicit Traffic in Narcotic Drugs and Psychotropic Substances, Dec. 20, 1988, U.N. Doc. E/CONF. 82/15, Corr. 1 and Corr. 2, reprinted in 28 I.L.M. 493 (1989); Controlled Substances Penalties Amendment Act of 1984, 21 U.S.C. § 841 (b) (2011); Chemical Diversion and Trafficking Act of 1988, 21 U.S.C. § 830 (2011).
2. Comprehensive Drug Abuse Prevention and Control Act of 1970, H.R. 91-1444 91st Cong., 2nd Sess. (1970).
3. Extradition Treaty with the Republic of Columbia, U.S-Colom., Sept. 14, 1979, S. Treaty Doc. No. 97-8 art. II¶ 4 (1979), including as extraditable offenses, attempts and conspiracies to engage in drug trafficking.
(4) Subject to the conditions set forth in paragraphs (1), (2) and (3) extradition shall also be granted:
(a) For attempting to commit an offense or participating in the association to commit offenses as provided by the laws of the United States.
(b) for any extraditable offense when, for the purpose of granting jurisdiction to either Contracting Party [sic], transportation of person or property, the use of the mails or other means of carrying out interstate or foreign commerce is also an elements of the specific offense….
APPENDIX
Schedule of Offenses
21. Offenses against the laws relating to the traffic in, possession, or production or manufacture of,[sic] narcotic drugs, cannabis, hallucinogenic drugs, cocaine and its derivatives, and other substances which produce physical or psychological dependence.
22. Offenses against public health, such as the illicit manufacture of or traffic in chemical products or substances injurious to health.
4. Extradition Treaty with the Republic of Bolivia, U.S.-Bol., Jun. 27, 1995, S. Treaty Doc. No. 104-22 art. III (1995) (making drug trafficking a mandatory extraditable offense) providing:
Neither Party [sic] shall be obligated to extradite its own nationals, except when the extradition request refers to…:
(b) murder; voluntary manslaughter; kidnapping; aggravated assault; rape; … offenses related to the illicit traffic in controlled substances…. (emphasis added).
5. Richard J. Barnett, Extradition Treaty Improvements to Combat Drug Trafficking, 15 Ga. J. Int’l & Comp. L. 285 (1985).
6. Extradition Treaty with Jamaica, U.S.-Jam, Jun. 14, 1983, S. Treaty Doc. No. 98–18 (1984) [hereinafter Treaty].
7. See Desmond “Milo” Bond, Letter to the Editor, Is the Extradition Treaty Fair?, Jamaica Observer, Apr. 18, 2010, available at http://www.jamaicaobserver.com/letters/Authority.
8. See Ken Chaplin, Op. Ed., Justice Minister Correct in Coke’s Extradition Case, Jamaica Observer (Apr. 6, 2010), http://www.jamaicaobserver.com/columns/Ken-Chaplin-April-6—Minister-correct-in-extradition-matter_7521888.
9. See Daraine Luton, ‘Dudus Defence’, The Gleaner, Mar. 3, 2010, available at http://www.jamaica-gleaner.com/gleaner/20100303/lead/lead1.html (quoting Prime Minister of Jamaica, Bruce Golding: “I am not defending the wrongdoing of any person but, if I have to pay a political price for it, I am going to uphold a position that constitutional rights do not begin at Liguanea.”) The American embassy in Jamaica is located in Liguanea, a subdivision of Kingston.
10. See Clayton Morgan, The Extradition Treaty Between Jamaica and the USA, RisingStarsTV.Net Blog (Nov. 25 2009, 12:30 PM), http://www.risingstarstv.net/profiles/blogs/the-extradition-treaty-between (discussing that “There is a view that the treaty has proved itself to be inimical to the interests of Jamaica. Space denies me the opportunity to submit a detailed exposition of the negative effects of the treaty on our sovereignty and the due process of law.”).
11. See Sherman, supra note 1, at 664.
Thus, the United States drug control relationship with many third world nations is actually one of at least partial coercion. Naturally, such arm-twisting by any nation in pursuit of a foreign policy objective is bound to upset the government with which that country must work, but which may have differing perspectives on, and approaches to, the same objective.
12. See Morgan, supra note 10.
13. See Bond, supra note 7; see also Morgan, supra note 10; John G. Kester, Some Myths of United States Extradition Law, 76 Geo. L.J. 1441, 1442 (1988) (“Conversely, extradition from another country to the United States for trial here may impose insuperable defense costs on the accused, and often means separation from witnesses, evidence, and other support that would make conviction less likely.”).
14. Warren v. Secretary of State for the Home Department (2003) EWHC 1177(stating: “it is in the interest of good international relations that a country honour [sic] its treaty obligations. This does not mean that a requesting state, which acts in breach of the spirit of the treaty, expects, as a matter of right, that the requested state is obligated to honour [sic] its request under the treaty.”).
15. United States v. Lui Kin-Hong, 110 F.3d 103, 110 (2d Cir. 1997) (stating that treaties are to be enforced in the interest of friendly international relationships.); see also Warren, supra note 14 (stating, “Such international cooperation is all the more important in modern times. . . . It is in the interest of good international relations that a country honor its treaty obligations….”).
16. Sherman, supra note 1, at 664; Gary Spaulding, Dorothy’s Defence, The Gleaner, Mar. 4, 2011, available at http://jamaica-gleaner.com/gleaner/20110304/lead/lead1.html (quoting Senator Dorothy Lightbourne: “All I asked the US to do is to respect our laws. We are small and we are poor, but respect our laws.”.
17. Sherman, supra note 1, at 664; Dorothy Lightbourne Tried to Protect Dudus’ Rights, The Gleaner, Mar. 3, 2011, available at http://jamaica-gleaner.com/latest/article.php?id=26927.
18. Peter Abrahams, The Dreamers & the Armageddon Boys, in The Coyaba Chronicles: Reflections on the Black Experience in the 20th Century (2000).
The National Minimum Wage compelled employers of domestic workers to observe set base rates and hours and conditions of work. Before that law, domestic helpers were at the mercy of employers. A good employer might pay her household help reasonably well and allow for an eight-hour day, with every other weekend off on full pay. A bad employer might pay very little and insist on a twelve- or fourteen- or even sixteen-hour day with no weekends off.
19. Id.
His education programme, in which the children of employers and their employees would go to the same schools, sit side-by-side in the same classes, unsettled many middle-class parents who had spent a life-time working to separate themselves from the lower classes and move up to the upper classes.
20. Id.
21. Casey Gane-McCalla, How the CIA Created the Jamaican Shower Posse, Newsone, (Jun. 3, 2010, 2:06 PM), http://newsone.com/world/casey-gane-mccalla/how-the-cia-created-the-jamaican-shower-posse/.
22. Id.
23. Abrahams, supra note 18.
Some of us in the media who had watched Seaga’s rise, who had witnessed his handling of the JBC strike, were concerned about the man’s attitude to the democratic process. The 1962 election campaign in West Kingston was a brutal and savage contest in which the bullet was used to influence the outcome of the ballot. When it was over and Dudley Thompson and his supporters had been routed, the PNP, as a political party was completely wiped out in West Kingston. There was no room for it to regroup and rebuild. More than thirty years on, there is still no viable two-party system functioning in that constituency. The PNP — in or out of office — has fielded token candidates who have routinely been trounced by staggering majorities. The place had been turned into a closed, solid and permanent power base for one man.
24. Gary Brana-Shute, Narco-Criminality in the Caribbean: Global Problems in Small Places, http://librarycontentdm.mona.uwi.edu/cdm4/item_viewer.php?CISOROOT=/Crime&CISOPTR=511&CISOBOX=1&REC=8 (last updated Nov. 17, 2011).
25. Gane-McCalla, supra note 21.
26. Id.
27. Brana-Shute, supra note 24, at 5 (“There is tendency for the gangs … led by th[eir] dons to realign with their former political patrons during election years when political parties need support, votes, and financial contributions, and the gunmen need political protection and insurance for the future.”)
28. Id.; Abrahams, supra note 18.
29. Sherrian Gray, Trends in Urban Crime and Violence in Kingston, Jamaica, 6. (2007) available at http://www.unihabitat.org.grhs/2007 (last visited Aug. 17, 2011) Garrisons significantly contributed to increasing crime rates in Jamaica. For example, during the 1980 nine-month long election campaign, gangs from political garrisons waged a murderous war throughout the country. In that year, the police recorded 889 murders (there were only 351 in 1979) and 643 murders were caused by gun-related violence. In 2005, Jamaica had the highest murder rate in the world and the gangs involved in drug-trafficking were substantial contributors to that statistic.; see also Mark P. Sullivan, Cong. Research Serv., RS22372, Jamaica: Political and Economic Conditions and U.S. Relations 2 (1006).
30. In the early nineties, Jamaica supposedly earned more from marijuana exports than from other exports. See J. Richard Barnett, Extradition Treaty Improvements to Combat Drug Trafficking, 15 Ga. J. Int’l & Comp. Law, 285, 297 (1985).
31. Id. at 295.
32. Id.
33. Id.
34. Id.
35. See Barnett, supra note 30, at 297.
36. Brana-Shute, supra note 24, at 5 (discussing “Jamaican possess originally controlled the importation, distribution, and sale of marijuana at the retail level in the United States as early as the late 1970s. They have since enlarged their menu to include cocaine, crack, heroin, carachi, PCP, methamphetamine, and ‘ice.’”)
37. The Shower Posse, Trivester News, May 16, 2010, available at http://www.trivester.com/world/americas/caribbean/jamaica/feature/jamaica-labour-party/shower-possee-gang/100516/.
38. Jamaica became a logistical respite for drug traffickers destined for the United States.
39. It is not certain whether the Shower Posse obtained its name because of its members’ style of “showering” rivals with bullets or because its members were supporters and enforcers for the JLP, which promised during its 1980 campaign to bring showers of deliverance.
40. The Shower Posse allegedly committed more than one thousand murders throughout the United States. Ed Pilkington, Christopher ‘Dudus” Coke Handed 23-year US Jail Term for Drug Traficking, The Guardian, June 8, 2012, available at http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2012/jun/08/christopher-dudus-coke-jail-term; J.P. Lane, There’s an Element of Truth to Every Fictional Tale, Good Reads Blog (May 26, 2012, 12:28), http://www.goodreads.com/author_blog_posts/2504441-there-s-an-element-of-truth-to-every-fictional-tale.
41. Molly McConville, Note: A Global War On Drugs: Why The United States Should Support the Prosecution of Drug Traffickers in the International Criminal Court, 37 Am. Crim. L. Rev. 75, 77 (2000).
The United States as the Largest importer and consumer of narcotic drugs and psychotropic substances in the world, increasingly feels the effects of international drug trafficking. Drug trafficking constitutes a unique and urgent threat to the security of the U.S. because it touches all ethnic and socioeconomic groups and infiltrates all communities, including cities, suburbs and rural areas…. [T]he work of international criminals and the drug use that results, wreak havoc within the borders of the United States and [is manifested] in the violence and ruined lives that plague so many of our communities.
42. Barnett, supra note 5, at 290.
43. Id.
44. The Extradition Act, (1991) (Jam.), available at http://www.oas.org/juridico/mla/en/jam/en_jam-ext-law-ext1993.pdf [hereinafter Jamaica Extradition Act].
45. Extradition Treaty with Jamaica, Letter of Submittal, U.S.-Jam, Jun. 14, 1983, S. Treaty Doc. No. 98–18 (1984).
46. K.C. Samuels, Jamaica’s First President–Dudus-1992-2012 His Rise–His Reign–His Demise 162-201 (2011); Maxine Williams, Christopher ‘Dudus” Coke Extradition Entangles Local and International Law, The Guardian (UK), June 2, 2010, available http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/jun/02/christopher-dudus-coke-extradition-law?INTCMP=SRCH.
47. Id.
48. Brana-Shute, supra note 24, 5-6.
49. Samuels, supra note 46, at 162; Williams, supra note 46.
50. Sealed Indictment at 1, United States v. Coke, No. S15 07 Cr. 971 (RPP) (S.D.N.Y. ) available at http://amlawdaily.typepad.com/files/coke-christopher-michael-s15-indictment-1.pdf.
51. Id.
52. See, e.g., Hugh Wilson, Extradition and Ministerial Discretion, The Gleaner, Mar. 17, 2010, available at http://jamaica-gleaner.com/gleaner/20100317/lead/lead7.html.
53. Id.
54PM Defends His Handling of the ‘Dudus’ Extradition, RJR News, Sept. 12, 2010, available at http://rjrnewsonline.com/news/local/pm-defends-his-handling-%E2%80%98dudus%E2%80%99-extradition/; Wilson, supra note 52; Gary Spaulding, Lightbourne Biased In Handling ‘Dudus” Extradition Case-KD, The Gleaner, Mar. 11, 2011, available at http://jamaica-gleaner.com/gleaner/20110311/lead/lead4.html.
55. Lloyd Williams, Jamaica, US and Extradition, Jamaica Gleaner, Apr. 8, 2004, available at http://jamaica-gleaner.com/gleaner/20040408/news/news1.html; Gary Spaulding, Jamaica’s Diplomatic Rows With the U.S., BN VILLAGE, Apr. 13, 2010, available at http://www.bnvillage.co.uk/f120/jamaicas-diplomatic-rows-u-s-104990.html.
56. See US Embassy Says Visa Cancellations Not Political, Jamaica Observer, Apr. 15, 2010 available at http://www.jamaicaobserver.com/news/embassy-cancels-visas-for-jamaicans.
57. Jade Brown, Counternarcotics, Terrorism & Intelligence after Action: The Rise And Fall Of Dudus Coke, HStoday.us, Oct.1, 2010, available at http://www.hstoday.us/focused-topics/counternarcotics-terrorism-intelligence/single-article-page/after-action-the-rise-and-fall-of-dudus-coke/71b9c790a8949baecb9800e93bd730f9.html.
58. See Desmond Allen, New Twist in Dudus Affair: Canadian Newspaper Raps Golding on “Dudus” Affair, Jamaica Observer, (April 15, 2010), http://www.jamaicaobserver.com/news/US-Dudus-continues_7529858; see also Luke Douglas, More “Dudus” Fears: JMA, JEA, Mandeville Ministers Troubles about “Dudus” Impasse, Jamaica Observer, (Mar. 22, 1010), http://www.jamaicaobserver.com/More–Dudus–fears-3-22-2010
59. Wilson, supra note 52. “The foundation on which the extradition treaty is constructed is to fight transnational organi[z]ed crime and to ensure that those who allegedly commit criminal offences in a foreign state are not immune from prosecution.”
60. Paul Henry, Manatt was Working for Gov’t on Dudus, Caribbean Star, http://www.caribbeanstar.tv/trending/16-in-the-music/131-manatt-was-working-for-govt-on-dudus- (last visited Aug. 9, 2012).
61. Treaty, supra note 6; Henry, supra note 60.
62. Extradition Treaty with Jamaica, supra note 45.
63. Id.
64. That spirit of cooperation between states has grown and evolved. See. e.g., U.N. High Comm’r for Refugees, The Interface between Extradition and Asylum, 2 PPLA/2003/05 (2003) (by Sibylle Kapferer) http://www.unhcr.org/3fe84fad4.pdf.
[T]he international legal framework within which States [sic] determine whether or not to extradite has undergone fundamental changes. With respect to a number of particularly serious crimes, developments in international criminal law, humanitarian [law,] and human rights law since 1945 have provided States [sic] with a basis for extradition in the absence of pre-existing extradition agreements and in some cases established an obligation to Extradite….
65. Charlton v. Kelly, 229 U.S. 447, 465 (1913).
66. Id.
67. Id.
68. Id. at 468 citing John Bassett Moore, A Treatise on Extradition and Interstate Rendition, 170 (Vol. 1, General Books LLC 2009) (1891).
69. Id. (emphasis added).
70. Id. “The conclusion we reach is, that there is no principle of international law by which citizens are excepted out of an agreement to surrender persons, where no such exception is made in the Treaty itself.” (internal quotations omitted).
71. Mutual Assistance (Criminal Matters) Act, (1995) (Jam.) available at http://www.moj.gov.jm/laws/statutes/Mutual%20Assistant%20(Criminal%20Matters)%20Act.pdf.
72. Id.
73. Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties, art. 18, May 23, 1969, 1155 U.N.T.S. 331 [hereinafter Vienna Convention].
74. See Jamaica Extradition Act, supra note 44, at art. III; see also Extradition Treaty with Jamaica, supra note 45.
75. Vienna Convention, supra note 73.
76. Webster’s New World Dictionary 191 (1977) (person, n. 1. human being. 2. the body or self)
77. The Jamaican Extradition Act supra note 44.
78. Id.
79. WikiLeaks: Extradition of Drug Kingpin Nembhard – Not as Easy as it Looked, Yaadinfo Jamaica Blog, (July 28, 2008, 19:41 UTC), http://blogs.jamaicans.com/yaadinfo/2011/09/27/wikileaks-extradition-of-drug-kingpin-nembhard-not-as-easy-as-it-looked/; Howard Campbell, United States vs. its ‘Backyard’ – Washington Always Wins, The Gleaner, Mar. 14, 2010, available at http://jamaica-gleaner.com/gleaner/20100314/lead/lead3.html.
80. Although it should be noted that the Government of Italy asserted that persons as described in its treaty with the United States did not include Italian citizens.
81. The Jamaican Extradition Act, supra note 44 at § 6.
82. See Treaty with Jamaica on Mutual Legal Assistance in Criminal Matters, U.S.-Jam., Jul. 7, 1989, S. Treaty Doc. 102-16 (1991).
83. Jamaicans Want Dudus Charged, Nation News, Sept. 6, 2011, available at http://www.nationnews.com/articles/view/jamaicans-want-dudus-charged/; Livern Barrett, Probe Dudus Here – PNP Pushes Case but Cop Ponders Whether Coke can be Charged Locally, Sept. 7 2011, available at http://jamaica-gleaner.com/gleaner/20110907/lead/lead1.html.
84. Executive Discretion in Extradition, 62 Colum. L. Rev. 1313, 1313. (1962). “[T]he Secretary . . . [b]y virtue of his position . . . must consider not only the equities of the particular case but also the consequences of his decision upon our foreign relations.”
85. See id. (“Absent a treaty obligation, international law imposes no duty upon a country to deliver up a person who has sought asylum within its boundaries.”); see also United States v. Rauscher, 119 U.S. 407, 412-15 (1886); and Valentine v. United States ex rel Neidecker, 299 U.S. 5, 8 (1936); and Hilario v. United States, 854, F. Supp. 165, 173 (E.D.N.Y. 1994) (“The reason that the United States grants foreign extradition requests only pursuant to treaty is that Congress so provided by statute.”); U.N. GAOR, 59th Sess., Int. Law Comm., The Obligation to Extradite or Prosecute at 1, U.N. Doc. A/cn.4/579/Add.2 (June 5, 2007) (“The United States of America believes that its practice, and that of other countries, reinforces the view that there is not a sufficient basis in customary international law or State practice to formulate draft articles that would extend an obligation binding legal instruments that contain such obligations.”); The Interface Between Extradition and Asylum, supra note 64 (“International law does not establish a general duty to extradite. A legal obligation for one State [sic] (the Requested State) to surrender a person wanted by another State [sic] (the Requesting State) exists only on the basis of bilateral and multilateral extradition agreements . . . .”).
86. It should be noted that some countries’ laws provide for extradition absent an extradition agreement, but very often that willingness to extradite is specifically predicated on reciprocity. See, e.g., Austria S. 3 of the Law of Extradition and Mutual Legal Assistance of 1979; See also Germany s. 5 of the Law on International Mutual Assistance in Criminal Matters of (December 23,1982).
87. See Hilario supra note 85; Vienna Convention, supra note 73, art. 32.
88. Id.; see also Valentine supra note 85; Charlton, supra note 65; Executive Discretion in Extradition, supra note 84 at 1322 n.68. “In 1947 and 1949, the State Department refused to surrender a total of four United States citizens to Mexico. In notes to the Mexican Ambassador, the Department invited the attention of the Mexican government to persistent refusal of Mexico to surrender its nationals.”.
89. Supra note 44.
90. Supra note 44 at sec. 12(1).
91. Wilson, supra note 52:
It is prima facie a breach of the citizen’s constitutional right . . . to be forcibly removed from his country where he has committed no infringement of its law to a foreign state on the basis of allegations. But this is not an absolute right and is subject to public interest consideration in fighting transnational crime and bringing fugitives to justice.” (emphasis added).
92. Jamaica Extradition Act, supra note 44
93. Gary Spaulding, Lightbourne Biased in handling ‘Dudus’ Extradition Case- KD, The Gleaner, Mar. 11, 2011, available at http://jamaica-gleaner.com/gleaner/20110311/lead/lead4.html; Paul Henry, Lightbourne Blames US for ‘Dudus’ Impasse, Jamaica Observer, Mar. 8, 2011, available at http://www.jamaicaobserver.com/news/Lightbourne-blames-US-hard-line-approach-for-Coke-impasse_8487963; Dorothy Lightbourne Tried to Protect Dudus’ Rights, Go-Jamaica, Mar. 3, 2011, available at http://go-jamaica.com/news/read_article.php?id=26927.
94. Idziak v. Canada, 3 S.C.R. 631, 659 (1992). See also Heath v. United States, Privy Council Appeal No. 6 of 2001, (E. Carib. Ct. App. June 19, 2002) (finding that where Governor General of St. Kitts delegated matters of foreign affairs to the minister of foreign affairs, requisitions for extradition issued from the minister to the magistrate were proper).
95. Cite to Virginia Law review article at page 24; United States v. Howard, 996 F.2d 1320, 1325 (1st Cir. 1993).
96. Compare United States v. Fernandez-Morris, 99 F. Supp. 2d 1358, 1366 (S.D. Fla. 1999), with Heath v. United States, Privy Council Appeal No. 58 of 2004, (E. Carib. Ct. App. Nov. 28, 2005) (citing Nankissoon Boodram v Attorney General (1996) 47 WIR 459, 495) (“The proper forum for a complaint about publicity is the trial court….), and Heath v. United States, Privy Council Appeal No. 58 of 2004, (E. Carib. Ct. App. Nov. 28, 2005) (citing Republic of Argentina v. Mellino) (1987) 1 SCR 536, 558 (stating “ Our courts must assume that the defendant will be given a fair trial in the foreign country. Matters of due process generally are to be left for the courts to determine at trial there as they would be if he were to be tried here. Attempts to preempt decisions on such matter … would directly conflict with principles of comity on which extradition is based.”)
97. Hague Conference on Private International Law, Hague Convention on the Civil Aspects of International Child Abduction 25 Oct. 1980, Hague XXVIII, available at: http://www.unhcr.org/refworld/docid/3ae6b3951c.htm [“Hague Treaty”]; Moreover, in a practical sense, the Elian Gonzales saga demonstrated that the executive branch of the United States, notwithstanding contrary ideas or desires of some, if not most of its citizens, will enforce the letter of international treaties. In that case, Janet Reno, then the Attorney General and executive authority of the United States concluded that The Hague Convention of 25 October 1980 on the Civil Aspects of International Child Abduction must be followed and that Elian Gonzales should be returned to his father and allowed to return to Cuba. See also Marlene Moses & Jessica Uitto, The Hague Convention of Oct. 25, 1980, The Civl Aspects of International Child Abduction, 46 Tenn. Bar. J. 28, 33 (2011).
98. No ‘Dudus” Mistake – Lightbourne Fires Back at Critics, Declares Previous Gov’t’s Extradition Breaches will not be Repeated, The Gleaner, Oct. 30, 2009, available at http://jamaica-gleaner.com/gleaner/20091030/lead/lead1.html.
99. Id.
100. Id.
[T]he current Opposition should be advised to take careful note of an undertaking given by its then Minister of National Security and Justice, [Mr.] K.D. Knight, in an address to Parliament on June 6, 1995 . . “I wish to give the assurance that my ministry will do everything in its power to ensure that the extradition process in Jamaica is carried out in a manner which is faithful not only to our inter-national obligations but also to the fundamental concepts of justice and fairness as enshrined in the [Jamaican] Constitution.”
Gary Spaulding, Jamaica’s diplomatic rows with the U.S., BN VILLAGE, Apr. 13, 2010, available at http://www.bnvillage.co.uk/f120/jamaicas-diplomatic-rows-u-s-104990.html (quoting Senator Dorothy Lightbourne: “It is to be recalled that as a result of the hasty and precipitous action of a former minister of justice, a Jamaican national was improperly and illegally extradited to the US in 1992.”).
101‘Dudus’ Nightmare, Starbroek News, Sept. 9, 2009, available at, http://www.stabroeknews.com/2009/news/regional/09/09/%E2%80%98dudus%E2%80%99-nightmare/; Lloyd Williams, supra note 55.
102. Lloyd Williams, supra note 55.
103. Id.
104. Id.
105. Gov’t of Jamaica v. United States, 770 F. Supp. 627 (M.D. Fla. 1991).
106. Id. at 628.
107. Id.
108. Id.
109. Id.
110. Gov’t of Jamaica v. United States, supra note 105.
111. Id.
112. Id.
113. Id.
114. Id.
115. Gov’t of Jamaica v. United States, supra note 105 (stating, “In the final analysis, this Court remains of the opinion that this is precisely the sort of instance in which deference should be afforded to the Executive Branch…. These are all considerations of political import which are singularly within the province of the Executive Branch”.).
116. Morrison v. Lappin, No. 4:06CV2087 (D. Ohio Dec. 8, 2006).
117. Id.
118. Id.
119. United States v. Medina, 985 F. Supp. 397, 400 (S.D.N.Y. 1997).
120. Id.
121. Id.
122. Jacques Semmelman, The Doctrine of Specialty in the Federal Courts: Making Sense of United States v. Rauscher, 34 Va. J. Int’l L. (1993).
123. Id.
124. Medina, supra note 119, at 400 n. 5 (stating “Because specialty is based upon concerns of international comity, the surrendering country may waive its applicability.”)
125. Semmelman, supra note 122.
126. United States v. Yousef, 377 F.3d 56, 71 (2d. Cir. 2003).
127. United States v. Puentes, 50 F.3d 1567, 1572 (11th Cir. 1994) (“An extradited person may raise whatever objections the extraditing country is entitled to raise.”); see also Robert Iraola, The Doctrine of Specialty and Federal Criminal Prosecutions, 43 Val. U. L. Rev. 89 (Fall 2008).
128. Morrison v. Lappin, No. 4:06CV2087 (D. Ohio Dec. 8, 2006).
129. Id.; Puentes, 50 F.3d, at 127; Iraola, supra note 127, at 95 (stating, “United States v. Puentes illustrates the principle that courts not interpret specialty in a manner that restricts the government’s proof at trial with respect to the charged conspiracy offense for which the extradition was granted when the scope of the evidence exceeds that which was presented to the requested state.”).
130. Antwi v. United States, 349 F. Supp. 2d 663, 666 (S.D. N.Y. 2004).
131. Id.
132. Id.
133. Id.
134. Id.
135. Antwi, 349 F. Supp. 2d at 669-71.
136. Id. at 672-73.
137. Id. at 673.
138. Id. at 673.
139. Id.
140. Antwi v. United States, 349 F. Supp. 2d 663, 673 (S.D. N.Y. 2004).
141. Id. at 673–74.
142. Treaty, supra note 6.
143. Jamaica Extradition Act, supra note 44.
144. Id.; Treaty, supra note 6.
145. Id.
146. See e.g., Jamaica Extradition Act, supra note 44:
Part III—Proceedings for Extradition
8. (1) Subject to the provisions of this Act relating to provisional warrants, a person shall not be dealt with under this Act except in pursuance of an order of the Minister (in this Act referred to as “authority to proceed” issued in pursuance of a request made to the Minister by or on behalf of any Approved State— …
(3) On receipt of such a request the Minister may issue an authority to proceed , unless it appears to him that an order for the extradition of the person concerned could not lawfully be made, or would not in fact be made, in accordance with the provisions of this Act.
147. Manatt Phelps and Phillips Saga, RJR News, http://rjrnewsonline.com/topics/manatt-phelps-and-phillips-saga (last visited Aug. 13, 2012).
148. Id.; JLP on Manatt-Dudus Report, The Gleaner, June 14, 2011, available at http://jamaica-gleaner.com/latest/article.php?id=29382.
149. Treaty, supra note 6, art. VII.
150. Id.art. IX–X.
If the executive authority of the Requested State considers that the information furnished in support of the request for extradition is not sufficient to fulfill the requirements of this Treaty, it shall notify the Requesting State in order to enable that State to furnish additional information….
151. “Norris Barnes was kidnapped and the United States had never acknowledged that it did wrong…. We are going to insist that the extradition issues be done in compliance with the laws of Jamaica.” Gary Spaulding, United States Refusing to Amend Extradition Treaty, Says Golding, The Gleaner, Mar. 24, 2011, available at http://jamaica-gleaner.com/gleaner/20110324/lead/lead3.html.
THE NEWS ARTICLE ON THE CHILD SHOT IN FLORIDA
BSO investigating shooting of 5-year-old boy in Pembroke Park
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BY MIAMI HERALD STAFF
The Broward Sheriff’s Office is investigating the shooting of a 5-year-old boy in a Pembroke Park apartment Wednesday morning.
Three men who where inside the apartment where the boy was shot have been taken into custody.
Charges are pending as detectives are still investigating how the boy was wounded at 100 SW 41st St., Apt. #112.
The boy is recuperating at Joe DiMaggio Children’s Hospital.
Read more here: http://www.miamiherald.com/2013/01/02/3165061/bso-investigating-shooting-of.html#storylink=cpy
HE WILL BE FOUND NOW!
U.S. Marshals: Miami Man Fatally Shot Wife At Party
November 12, 2012 11:28 PM
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Ramone Clayton is wanted by the U.S. Marshals for allegedly shooting his wife in the forehead as they argued outside a Miami Gardens party in September. (CBS4)
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MIAMI (CBS4) – The U.S. Marshals is looking for a man they say fatally shot his wife in the forehead at a South Florida party they attended in September.
Ramone Clayton and his wife Stephanie were arguing in a yard next to the Miami Gardens home where the party was held when things turned violent.
Family member say Ramone became angry when he told Stephanie he wanted to leave, and she told him she wanted to stay.
“I was told he dragged her to the ground, then punched her, then went for his gun, and came back and shot her in the head,” said Olive Jones, Stephanie’s mother.
“Ramone Clayton is one of the most dangerous fugitives we are looking for right now,” says Deputy US Marshal Barry Golden.
U.S. Marshals say the Claytons has a history of domestic issues and run ins with the law They say Ramone was arrested for attempted murder several years ago for shooting at a man in an argument over another woman. Those charges were later dropped.
Stephanie’s mother is now raising the children her daughter left behind, and said she never liked her daughter’s new husband.
“The first time I saw that guy, I said to my daughter, ‘I hope you are not going to live with that guy,” said Olive Jones.
Stephanie was just 35. She leaves behind 3 young children from a previous relationship. Her daughters say they are dealing with it by pretending their mother is on vacation, or working late in the job she held as a mail carrier.
“We gonna grow up without her,” said daughter Crystal Jones. “She’s not here no more and it’s just going to be hard to live without her.”
US Marshals believe Ramone Clayton is still in South Florida.
“Somebody out here knows where he’s at but they’re just not talking,” said daughter Crystal.
The US Marshals are offering up to $20,000 in reward money for information that leads to Ramone Clayton’s Capture. The number is to call is 877-WANTED2.
“I would really like for him to be brought to justice because he killed my daughter and she was a wonderful person,” said Jones.
NOT A GOOD LOOK FOR THE ZIMMERMANS
ORLANDO, Fla. — At her husband’s bond hearing, Shellie Zimmerman was asked repeatedly about money. Among the questions: How much did the couple collect in donations through George Zimmerman’s website?
“Currently, I do not know,” Shellie Zimmerman replied. She and other family members described their financial situation as dire. Judge Kenneth Lester granted George Zimmerman $150,000 bond on the second-degree-murder charge he faces in the death of 17-year-old Trayvon Martin.
But prosecutors say Shellie Zimmerman spent the days before that April hearing shifting tens of thousands of dollars out of her husband’s account, then deliberately lied to the judge.
On Tuesday, she was arrested on a perjury charge and booked into John E. Polk Correctional Facility. It’s the same jail her husband has called home since the deception was revealed earlier this month, leading the judge to revoke his bond.
“The prosecutor sent a strong message that you have to tell the truth in court because it is the whole basis of the American judicial system,” said Benjamin Crump, an attorney for Martin’s family, after learning of the new arrest.
In an affidavit, prosecutors revealed new details about Shellie Zimmerman’s alleged efforts to hide money from the court.
Four days before she testified to having no knowledge of the funds, the affidavit says, Shellie Zimmerman began a series of transfers into her account — totaling $74,000 from April 16 to April 19.
The affidavit says about $47,000 more was transferred from George Zimmerman’s account to his sister’s. Shellie Zimmerman withdrew about $18,000 more in cash, prosecutors say.
Prosecutors say the Zimmermans used a rudimentary “code” to discuss the money in recorded jailhouse phone calls — referring to $100,000, for example, as “$100.” At least two of the calls, the state alleges, were made while Shellie Zimmerman and her husband’s sister were at a local credit union making the transactions.
Zimmerman told his wife to “pay off all the bills” with the money, prosecutors said, including an American Express card and a Sam’s Club card. He also instructed her on how to pay his bail.
According to the affidavit, after her husband was released on bond days after the hearing, she transferred more than $85,000 back into his account. A branch manager at their credit union told prosecutors he knew the couple and saw Shellie Zimmerman talking to her husband on the phone April 16.
The manager said he had helped Shellie Zimmerman transfer control of George Zimmerman’s account, at one point speaking directly to George Zimmerman by phone.
Michael Grieco, a Miami defense lawyer and former prosecutor, has been critical of the state’s case against George Zimmerman — but said prosecutors have “a pretty strong perjury case” against Shellie Zimmerman.
As a prosecutor in a perjury case, “you have to establish that they know that they are making a false statement.” Normally, that’s a challenge, he said, because the prosecutor can’t “get in someone’s head.”
But the phone recordings and bank statements make the job easier in this case, he said.
Grieco said Shellie Zimmerman’s perjury charge should have no effect on her husband’s murder prosecution.
“It is a completely isolated and independent incident,” he said.
Shellie Zimmerman was arrested about 3:30 p.m. Tuesday, deputies said. She faces one count of perjury in an official proceeding — a third-degree felony. Her bail was set at $1,000, and she quickly bonded out.
George Zimmerman’s attorney, Mark O’Mara, said Tuesday night on his website that his law group would not represent Shellie Zimmerman because it would be a conflict of interest. She will hire independent counsel, according to the post.
George Zimmerman remains jailed without bail. He faces a second-degree-murder charge in the February shooting death of Martin. A second bond hearing is set for later this month.
MARK SHIELDS A TALK UP
The British officer who changed policing in Jamaica
As Christopher ‘Dudus’ Coke awaits sentencing, Mark Shields explains how a two-month secondment turned into a new life
Decca Aitkenhead in Kingston
guardian.co.uk, Thursday 7 June 2012 10.40 EDT
Mark Shields in Kingston, Jamaica. Photograph: David Levene
On Friday Jamaica’s most notorious gangster will appear in court in New York to be sentenced for racketeering. By American standards, the 20 years Christopher “Dudus” Coke is facing may not sound terribly long, but his sentence will draw to a close one of the most explosive criminal cases in Jamaican history.
The country was almost brought to its knees two years ago, when Coke’s armed supporters flocked to the slums of Kingston to fight security forces battling to arrest and extradite the don to the US. A state of emergency was declared, buildings were burned, police stations bombed and more than 70 lives lost in the bloodbath.
Evidently, it takes a lot to convict a don. In Coke’s case it took the full force of American might – and most Jamaican murderers do not face anything like that. It’s quite difficult to convey the degree to which crime dominates life for many on an island home to fewer than three million people, of whom roughly 1,500 are murdered each year, making it one of the most murderous nations on the planet. So prolific are the killings that one newspaper’s fortnightly crime round-up subdivides them into categories: chopped to death, burned to death, poisoned and so on. There is also a category for all those shot by the police, and by the early 2000s the figure was averaging three a week. The history of corrupt and incompetent policing has been a national tragedy for Jamaicans, but they aren’t the only ones. What happens in Kingston will usually find its way on to the streets of Miami, Toronto, New York and London.
Which is why Mark Shields, a detective chief superintendent with the Met, was dispatched to Jamaica back in 2004. Officially, he had been invited by the Jamaican government. “But I suspect it was with one arm up their back,” Shields offers with a knowing smile. The UK government was spending a fortune trying to help Jamaica contain its crime problem, but was “extremely concerned about a particular individual”.
That individual wasn’t a gangster, but a senior Jamaican police officer, Reneto Adams. Adams and his team had distinguished themselves by killing four members of the public in a rural house in 2003. Adams insisted they had died in a shootout, but such was the suspicion surrounding the case that Shields was seconded to investigate. “What I thought would be a two-month assignment turned into two years. And throughout, we were told by everyone, you will never get Adams charged, and if you do he will never ever be convicted.”
They were wrong on the first count – but right about the second. “Unfortunately,” Shields says, choosing his words with care, “the jury was not persuaded.”
Shields will not say so, but everyone I know in Jamaica takes it for granted that the acquittal was essentially corrupt. But Shields had persuaded four officers to testify for the prosecution and on that basis he was invited to stay on in 2005 and become the country’s deputy police commissioner, bringing three assistants from UK police forces with him. More than 40 years after Jamaica’s independence, the British were back in charge of law and order.
Shields’s appointment created quite a sensation on the island. At 1.96 metres (6ft 5in) he would cut a striking figure anywhere, and Kingston was electrified by this glamorous foreigner who published his mobile phone number in a national newspaper, and invited people to call him directly to report crime. If Jamaicans were taken aback, Shields was pretty shocked himself by what he found in his new job.
“I went to homes where two or three generations were just charred remains in a burnt-out house. I’ve been to more shootings than you can imagine, and more funerals of police officers murdered on duty than I’d ever imagined possible. I remember a police officer’s five-year-old daughter taking a bullet in the chest.”
If anything, the police service itself was even more shocking. “When I first got here, there was a very inward-looking, nepotistic culture. They were hated by most of the public in Jamaica, because fatal shootings were running at a ridiculously high rate, corruption was out of control, from top to bottom. Anything from allowing drugs to be brought on to the island, and turning a blind eye for a cut, to police officers contracted to kill other criminals, anything you can think of, they did.”
Even the officers trying their best were struggling in a system that would have looked old-fashioned a century ago. “It was appalling. An exhibit such as a bullet fragment would be put into a paper brown envelope, and then they would get a red wax seal and stamp it on the back like something out of the Napoleonic war. I’m serious. So you would have this old envelope with a Napoleonic seal on the back, and that’s your exhibit.” Fingerprints were stored on cards, with no digital database; crimes were laboriously recorded by hand in big old dusty ledgers. “They would just say, that’s how we do it.” To make matters worse, he adds, “Back then policing was a job you took if you couldn’t get any other job. Nobody with brains became a police officer, or not many; it really was a class of person that shouldn’t be becoming police officers.”
The international operation against Coke was already under way under Shields’s watch, involving the US, Canada and the UK. Coke’s stronghold was Tivoli Gardens, a notorious district of Kingston where police seldom ever ventured. “I wanted to treat it like any other community, but it was very difficult to do so because the backlash was such. Why was that? Because four years earlier Adams had gone in there and more than 20 people had been killed. Not many communities had lost 26 people in two days, as had happened when Adams and his men went in there. So of course I can understand the sensitivities. But we were forced to treat it with almost kid gloves.”
It’s very hard, Shields explains, for outsiders to appreciate the sheer power a don like Coke wielded over his community. “It’s criminal terrorism. People literally live in fear. If they run a shop, they have to pay protection. If the don wanted their youngest daughter, they would have to give her up so he could take her virginity. The community was completely under the control of the local don, and the police were deeply frightened about going in there.”
Following the killing of four officers in 2005, Shields learned that the gunmen were hiding in Tivoli Gardens, and mounted an operation. “Within a matter of minutes, Bruce Golding, the local constituency MP and then leader of the opposition, “was on the streets, along with the mayor, saying what are you doing here, why are you invading our community? They said that to us, the police.” Shields shakes his head in disbelief. “Of all the dons, Coke was in a league of his own.”
Golding subsequently became prime minister, and his reluctance to extradite Coke to the US led to the street war that broke out when the don was finally taken. Shields was often approached by politicians who seemed strangely keen to befriend him – “and I was never really sure what their motivation was. We had suspicions over particular politicians, who we thought were too close to criminals.”
Others in authority weren’t wildly enthusiastic about supporting Shields. “Well, without going into too much detail – because I still live here – some police officers definitely tried to undermine our work. Slowing processes down. Not turning up to meetings. Refusing to promote officers we were happy with. Some senior officers literally wouldn’t even speak when we entered a room. It was a small vociferous minority who just didn’t want us there.”
Any worries about how the public would receive him, however, turned out to be baseless.
“From a white liberal academic person from the UK’s perspective, the worst thing that you could ever do is send a white police officer into what is a majority black community, to do what I did. So of course I thought about it, and I wasn’t so naive to think a white man might not look like a reinvention of colonialism. But in fact it wasn’t like that at all. Jamaican perceptions of what we were doing here were completely different to the perceptions we build up in our white, middle-class, educated, liberal England. What they wanted were straight police officers who would speak to the public. And that started a change in the relationship between the JCF [Jamaican Constabulary Force] and the public.”
According to Shields, the transformation since he joined the force has been astonishing. “We’ve got a far more professional police service than we’ve ever had before, with more public confidence than ever in the past. They have far more resources. They investigate murders properly because they have proper major investigative task forces. The scene of crime officers have been trained to a first-world standard, and the forensic laboratory is far better than it’s ever been. We now have more graduates than ever before signing up. They see it’s a professional body. A critical mass of people in the organisation now have integrity.” Corruption among both police and politicians has reduced dramatically, and in 2006 another notorious don known as Zekes was sentenced to life in prison. “That would never,” Shields says with pride, “have happened before.”
But the biggest investigation Shields found himself leading was one he could never have expected. With the eyes of the world on Jamaica during the 2007 cricket world cup, Pakistan’s manager Bob Woolmer was found dead in his Kingston hotel bathroom. The coroner announced he had been strangled, and pandemonium broke out; the Pakistani team was questioned, rumours involving Far East illegal gambling rings began flying, and every day Shields had to face the cameras to explain why the mystery killer was still at large. Privately, Shields was sure he knew exactly why. There was no killer; the coroner had made a mistake. Woolmer had died of natural causes.
“But I had a duty to act on the coroner’s verdict. Besides, if I had said it was an unexplained death, and the pathologist said he was strangled, then who is going to be accused of a cover up? Me.” He feared he would be accused of being paid off by illegal betting syndicates in Pakistan? “Absolutely.” After three tumultuous months, a new team of pathologists finally confirmed Shields’s suspicions; Woolmer had not been murdered. But by then, in the eyes of many, Shields was a laughing stock. “It was the most difficult period of my life,” he says quietly.
After four years of service, Shields declined to renew his contract, but remains on the island running his own private security consultancy. He has a young daughter with a Kingston radio presenter, and laughs that he had never imagined ending up with a brand new life and family in Jamaica. “But this place, well, it just gets under your skin.” Coke’s extradition had left a profound legacy in Shields’s new home; Golding – who had been prime minister at the time – was forced to step down from office last year, blamed for the carnage that engulfed the capital in the fight for Coke, and the don’s fate has also had a staggering impact on crime rates. The murder rate has dropped by 40%, and not one police officer lost his life in the line of duty last year.
“I think Coke’s arrest and extradition put the criminals into some sort of psychological spin. They were running scared. I think it sent shockwaves through the country that if they can do this to him then they can do this to any of us. The change in the relationship between politics and criminals, that’s also happened.” I would guess that, having had no fear of their own authorities for so long, it’s the fear of foreign intervention which is now making corrupt officials think twice.
But the Jamaican government recently announced that it would be recruiting no more British officers, and British cuts have slashed spending on trans-border security. Shields is concerned. “Wherever I worked, anywhere in Kingston, I would suddenly come across a young man who would go: ‘Alright, guv?’ I’d ask him where he came from and it would be Deptford, or Birmingham, or Bristol. There are those in strategic positions in London who say gun crime and gang crime in Jamaica is not a priority any more. And I think it’s shortsighted, because if you take your eye off that particular ball, it’s going to roll again and be a massive problem.”
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