Puzzling Pieces

Chapter 11

“You really gotta work on your kidnapping people’s skills. I mean, in the end, how embarrassed are you to end up with only half of me?”

“You talk way too much girl … way too much.”

“You haven’t answered me ugly. You only have half of me. The other half could easily get out of this car and flip this damn aluminium can into a triple roll-over homicide! What’s stopping me is that it would be too easy.”

“You talk big, Sia. Real big.”

I’m fed up with this pig’s apple-cider stench. He must bathe and sleep in that corn sugar and dextrose? And there’s nothing sweet about it. Because he’s repressed in the kind of beer you don’t want to drink. I agreed to get in the car and ride to the unknown. I had little choice when he pulled out a llama 1911, and said, “we can do this with the help of my bootlicker.”

I wanted to be difficult, but I was on Viv’s turf and this was his pile of ash I had to dive into. I sat in the back seat listening to this skinny ostrich whistle some redneck s**t. He was doing it to annoy me. Heck, him breathing was enough. I had to hold back my happy-tappy hand from bolting with a blade to the back of his neck and singing sweet cherries as I cut him a deal … literally!

But I rubbed both my hands together to disguise the anxiety that I was feeling. And me claiming that I could flip his four wheels over was for show. I was packing in my confidence for what I didn’t want to face.

Viv was a rotten son of a beeeeeeeeeeeep! If there was a party of 3, then he never told me that sunny-Jim story. I was clueless. Lost. Chop my leg and give me another. All I could think of in regard to the number three was that photograph where he was in the middle, and he had two other blokes on his side.

All three were dark-skinned: one had a more caramel-smooth touch - in that framed photo, but that was burnt and would be no use to me. I had to go for the old sure-fire neurons that haven’t failed me yet. I could try the memory route? Go back to the moment where I saw them as they exactly were. I have time.

This ostrich must be bringing me to one of them? I close my eyes; count to 10; and see myself back in Viv’s room: staring at that photo, only, I’m holding it in my hand now and seeing these 3 men were all a higher ranking than an ordinary soldier. Viv being the most established looking in his uniform. Yeah, I see it. Then quickly open my eyes when this fool makes a sharp turn and my shoulder hit’s the side of the door.
The guy tells me, “Viv said you weren’t afraid of death, I beg to differ?”

“That wouldn’t be Viv’s words. The guy never fictionalized my personality.”

“Maybe I’m the one doing it for him? I held that gun to you … and you barely flinched.”

“I’m from the streets.”

“Then you and my boss in command will do very well together. He comes from that side of a rotten tooth.”-

“You trying to give him away?”

“I don’t know. If you weren’t so pro-Vivian, I’d offer you a job. We need more females with needles stuck in their veins.” His words make me want to squash ants upon my skin. I feel them invisibly crawling.

“I’d decline. I hate that kissing ass and knocking teeth from gums because the boss said so. Sort of like a debt collector. It’s better if we keep this new-found relationship strictly wordless.”

“He isn’t a man to mess with. And if he makes a deal, you better consider it.”

“Is this the mafia? What sort of a guy is this?”

“One that Viv knew he shouldn’t mess with. You’d do well to close your eyes to that.”

“Keep driving. I’ll worry about myself.”

I get the feeling that this bent-sod admires me. It wouldn’t be the first. They have some warped ideology that I’m the daughter they never had. If only it was the decent-living-sort with a good job. I couldn’t ask for that.

I’m back to memorizing that photograph. I do my best to see the man on Viv’s right. He looks familiar, but that would be stretching it to one of Viv’s reunions that he had where he told some story that got the room surly focused.
…
I was only attending this reunion because Viv asked me to stay close. Like a zit to a face close. Yeah. We were bum chums without the slapping of the cheeks. And that wasn’t neat when you have an image to uphold. I’m joking about that. But still, his worries for me traipsing the streets alone when I was on the dead or alive list was reaching the levels of parental guidance.

“You really going to show up at this thing?” Nathan always had a padded-water resistant jacket with the hoody over his head - no matter what the weather. It could be pure sun and barbeque grills in every backyard, and he’d still show up with that polyester puffer making him look double his size.

He was what I called straight-to-it. That meant no funny business when it came down to his personality. I wouldn’t say he was the most trustworthy on the block, but he had never batted the wrong eyelid to me or turned me against a wall like a cop and belittled my sexuality. He was on the scale of average. And many dudes on these streets back then knew him as Nate.

“I have to keep the old man sweet. He’s helped me out after I dished all that dirt on Sidney and his thug-a-licious boyband.”
Nate chokes on his ice popsicle from that truth. “They do be looking ready to bust into a couple of boy band hits.”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks those colourful purple and pink dreads do nothing for their thug life image.”

“Word. I’m glad you still in the cracking-jokes-spirit.”

“I won’t ever go cold turkey on you, Nate. You know … Viv has taught me that I have to stop and think about things.”

“Like what?” We’re nearing Viv’s place because I can hear some Rod Taylor and Peter Tosh play from a stereo system that wakes up the street. Viv loves his old school reggae classics.

“To stop running.”

“But you have every reason to run, Sia. Who else be doing what you do? It’s unusual to see such skills in a person around here. Apart from Viv, you really stand out.”

“Sometimes I just want to slot in. Be like everybody else doing the bop-da-bop-bop to shitty music.”

“Na man. I know s**t be hard. But realistically speaking, if you weren’t the way you were, then a few situations around here would’ve been worse.” Nate’s boost to my inflated ego ended just as we reached outside Viv’s yard. The front doors open, and a few people have Jamaican red stripes and Marlborough cigs inserted and poking out of their lip edges. They look close to falling.

The music is really loud. And ethnicities of all colors are enjoying the vibes with a friend of Viv’s setting up a small deck where he spun a few old school tunes for everybody in the cleared living area. I see some rum and punch in a very large jar with a scoop being passed around in white plastic cups. It must be a deadly brew, because a few people end up coughing after they take a sip.

Plenty of chatter going on. And yet, the personalities here are strangely squaddie-fied: a hint of the army is in their faces as these over 45’s look well passed wanting to walk down the aisle with death. Much like a footballer hanging up his boots. They all have that mark about them. I can’t explain it.

“You going in?”

“Yep. I wish you’d stay Nate? I’d be the youngest blood in there.”

“I’ll stay if you chill out here? You know Viv don’t like me much.”

“I’ll vouch for you.”

“Ok. I’ll wait.”

I make my way inside Viv’s gate and then through that front door that’s packed with men and a few females with bodies that could take out a tanker. They’re strong looking from head to toe, but they check-out ok with their dresses and feminization that still can’t disguise a love for trundling in mud and dirty dank water.

I get a few eyebrows that raise for the skies. They want to know why I’m here? I shrug it off at first, but it shows that I’m not welcome when I try to pass into the living room and get blocked out. I won’t stand for that.

“Are you going to let me in?”

“No teenagers allowed in here.”

“And who elected you to be the doorman? Viv sure as hell don’t need one.”

“Young lady … or man … you’re not welcome. This reunion is for retired veterans. Did you serve your country?” –

A hand comes from behind him and grips his shoulder. He twists himself around rapidly to see who it is. “Sia has served her own war out on those streets. She deserves a passage.”

“Rodney, what business you got with this?”

“I hope to f**k you aren’t referring to me as this!?” I step to him, and he recoils as if I’m some wild lunatic with his widened eyes.
I don’t know this Rodney, so I’m keen to see his response. “Sia knows Viv. And if he says she’s welcome … then she is.”

The self-elected doorman removes himself and walks into the living room to get some more punch. I don’t see Viv in there, but Rodney stands above me … the sort of man who could’ve been removed from the army for taking anabolic steroids. He’s not overly big to say he could flick me aside with a little swipe of his finger, but if I had to say how many pounds he weighed, I would come up with too many to actually state.

His legs lack the strength to hold his upper body up. And his clothes can barely subdue what’s underneath them. I haven’t seen guys like this since Nate’s cousin came out of prison ripped to the maximum and wanting to get even bigger. The doctor said if he continued he’d do his heart in.

“I got that right … Is your name Sia? Unless Viv’s been telling me porkies.”

“That’s my chosen name. My birth name isn’t on the used list.”

“Ah. So, you don’t go by your real name?”

“Are you making conversation to be polite? Because it seems forced?”

“Fire-cracker. You got a mouth on you. I suppose it’s fair since you must have a hard time of it looking the way you do.”

“Do you want to come again with that?”

“Be wise, Sia. I’m only suggesting the prejudice of others when they come across a girl who looks more thuggish them half them boys who I see sagging their jeans. I have no problem with it.”

“Then me and you can be friendly on the terms that we both know Viv.”

“I know Viv. A couple of men here can claim the same. But you … you only know what he allows you to. If you’re here today, you’ll probably get to know him a little more.”

“We all have our skeletons hanging out to dry. No harm in missing that laundry when it gets blown away by the wind.”

I failed to notice the punch that was in Rodney’s hands that he now offers to me. I refuse. But another hand claims it and drinks thirstily: it’s Viv. “Thanks for that Rodney.” Viv shoots quick glances from me to Rodney. His eyes play ping-pong.

“You have a loyal one in Sia. I’m sure down the line she’ll be very handy to your survival Viv.”

“Are you going for a low blow there Rodney?” Viv doesn’t sip on that punch anymore. It’s lost its sweetness.

“No. But you’re going to need loyalty like that down the line you should never have taken!”