Puzzling Pieces

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Rodney was the death of that party after those words to Viv were exchanged. Viv suddenly caught tonsillitis like he had a swollen throat: speaking only when spoken to and watching Rodney’s every move as he prowled the room and stood with a Caucasian man whose face and head-shape favoured a sloth with very wide – set open eyes that were colourless and prosaic.

The man had a naturally hoarse voice which needed water. It was rougher than Rodney’s. And in comparison, to Viv, whose voice was on its last airstream lapse, this man’s output was clearly working out of a tube that gave him a very limited speaking capability. Viv mainly listened to this man.

I kept on the down-low with Nate outside and grabbed the odd can of ginger beer and some odd dumplings that crept up when Viv brought more than a couple of trays and some sweet chilli sauce out in small batches for dunking. I was famished, so I imagine my rear-end was at that table more than 4 – times with a stuffed face full of flour: these dumplings contain mainly that.

The final visit to the table had the nominated DJ spinning some Gregory Issacs and causing the entire living room to jam and sway in harmony. No rift existed as night nurse came on and voices could be heard humming and citing the lyrics. It even had me listening. But unity lasts as long as the room stays as one. Which when I’m around is shorter than a fingernail.

Rodney left the living room with Viv and the Caucasian bloke straight after, and it brought me to a dilemma: I didn’t like Rodney one bit. So of course, my relaxation was cut short when I went out to follow them unobtrusively.

I didn’t have far to go as they stood in Viv’s small kitchen at the time in a mini circle as others passed through to the backyard to smoke and chat. The garden had no grass. Just a long clothesline that ran across the yard and concrete with small weeds trying to grow where it can.

I stayed in the foyer and ate some dumplings greedily. I could do with some gravy and soup. I stay closer to the stairwell so they wouldn’t be able to see me. I wish … I just wish that I could be a normal dyke: coming to this party as a relative who just wants to get fat! But no. I really prolong that no because it’s really annoying to be this way. It comes out like nooooooooo. And that for me is as comical as I can get.

I hear Rodney first, “I would’ve thought he’d be here by now?”

“Don’t bring bad luck on this reunion. I didn’t invite him. Carl said to leave it.”

Carl nods, “It’s for the best.”

“That man doesn’t need an invitation. You can’t tell me that half these men and women here were invited by you? The majority of my reference never associated with you, Viv.”

“You keep giving me history lessons Rodney. I just want to get this night over with and as peaceful as possible.”

Rodney scoffs to imply Viv’s dreaming, “Viv, give up dementia and look to reality. You think time doesn’t speak with a jurisdiction on your back. A few men aren’t here, but they’re coming. And when they get here, you best be ready to handle it. Even with that superwoman out there who might be tough. What do you think she can do for you in the long run?”

“Sia is just a kid I happened to help out. I wanted to hone her skills and give her something more than the gang banging life. More than you’ve ever done for your community. She’s got something. And that’s all I want her to realize.”

“You talking about that girl out there who has on those beige trousers and long sleeved shirt from men’s section?”

“That’s right, Carl.”

“Is she a problem?” A dumpling misses my mouth and rolls across the foyer’s blue carpet. They see it, well, Viv sees it as he comes out to check for the hell of it.

“Sia.” He leaves Rodney and Carl in the kitchen. He gives me a gentle nudge to the area where the stairway begins from the bottom: that’s further away from the kitchen.

“You been eaves dropping on any of that?”

“I might have heard some Hennessey whiskey.”

“What we were talking about in there wasn’t to that standard.”

“Maybe. But you sure as hell are expecting some visitors that aren’t going to make this reunion sweet.”

“Ah.” The sound of that ah is older than he is. “Rodney being here isn’t making any …” Viv abruptly starts to climb a couple of stairs and then sits on the 5th one. He looks to a couple of the guests in his crib with a forlorn strain, “that re-used line of being too old for this s**t is exactly how I feel. God help me when that snake comes through that door.”

“What snake?” I ask because there is plenty out here.

Viv stares straight past me like he knew his words would summon the devil. Then a female with a crop-haircut lets in this alley cat with a very sharp square jaw and a head that tells me there are brains inside because it looks so swollen. The door was open already but didn’t stop her from making sure the door was a little wider for him though. It shows the effect he has already, and he hasn’t even stepped into Viv’s yard yet. So that’s him then? That’s the man they call Henry: Sidney’s father. And behind him is this crooked sort with frog eyes that almost seem to leap out of place. And the back of his head down to his neckline is like a question mark. He sure is a funny looking brother with his screw face that lessens when he sees me watching him.

With his eyes fixed upon me like I’m that squished-in gum he misses on Viv's carpet, he says. “Hey Viv,” this fool is still looking at me. Brave guy. Real brave bruddah. “You associate with this kind now? How low you’ve come in the world.”

…

My new fren-enemy needs driving lessons because I never thought he’d be inferior to the NYC cabbies. But sitting in this back seat as a captured prisoner is given me car sickness as he purposely makes my journey as uncomfortable as possible. For a cop, he should think of seatbelts and being pulled over for not wearing one. But hell, he cares about as much as a duckling crossing the road.

My head’s flying all over the place and there are no damn bumps. When he goes uphill I find the top of my skull hitting the roof with no explanation. Then there’s another sharp turn and I’m sliding across to the other seat and window. Then I’m avoiding the splatter when he abruptly brakes and sends me hurling into the backrest.

“Did a blind man teach you how to drive!?” I’m at that final hurdle, and I’m not jumping anymore. “And what the hell are you stopping for? I see no cars.”

“Change of plan, Sia.”

“Say what?” He’s stopped in the middle of nowhere. It’s nearly a 200- yard road with nothing but pavement and a never-ending fence. Where the hell am I?

“I have word, to ask if you were present at the reunion?” That word must’ve come out of thin air. I didn’t see his phone or anything go off.

I play dumb. “What reunion?” -

“Vivian’s.” -

“No.” I must sound like a spoilt brat with that answer.

“Really?” The greasy ostrich starts to take out his piece; holds it up by the grip - so that I can see it in the rear window. He gives it a showroom twist; and then contorts his body so that the muzzle is giving me a naughty wink with its one eye. He means to shoot me. “It will be a real shame to get rid of you over a few simple questions.”

“ If they’re so simple then why the gun? It must mean a great deal.”

“It sure does. Like I said, if you weren’t so pro-Vivian, you’d find it a whole lot easier to deal with the truth when it comes to this situation.”

“Then shed some light and give me a reason to help you out?” Not that I would.

“When a man comes from so low, he’s willing to do whatever he has to. A poor man like Viv entered the service on the basis that he wasn’t afraid to commit the sacrificial deed. And he came up with 2 – other dogs like himself, all prime and ready to make the jump into that sinkable lard. Because as you might know, the army is minimum wage. But … them boys … they weren’t your regular army. I’d say … think Vietnam and then you might be close.”

“I know nothing about either, not my personal interest. But I get the jest of where you are going with this. You’re trying to tell me that Viv’s involvement was by the black book that you don’t show to the judge?”

“He did things by the black book with our particular service as his judge. Me as his key holder, and the man that you were meant to see, well, it was him who always made the final decision.”

“I think Viv did right by what he had to. I don’t even need to hear more about what you think I don’t know.”

“And that’s why I’m asking you the questions, and not that gym zealot of a grandson. He’s to pg-rated for us. You, on the other hand.” He pats the gun against the headrest. I hope the safety’s on. “You know some. We know more. And together, we can complete this in a nice and orderly fashion. No bloodshed. No danger.”

“You punks murdered Viv. That part you mentioned about bloodshed is a lie. And you haven’t gotten around to telling me that.”

“I only tell you what I’m meant to.”

Fuck this. I need to get out! I got my blade and I can use some self-defence here. I should go for his gun and make him drop it with the slashing of his wrist. He’d feel the sting and it would drop and give me a chance. A few other options … I stab his palm, that’s another drop-zone. Yes.

I keep my choices open as he winds down the window and steps out the car: coming over to open mine like it’s chivalry and I’m the lucky lady.

“Get out.” It’s not brittle and coarse when he says it. I don’t get out though. I take my chance here even with his gun in his hand when he forcibly tries to yank me out with a firm grip. I aggressively edge away to make it a whole lot harder for him. He comes for me again, and this time, I use the rubber forepart of my light grey timberlands and shove it into his face.

I hear, “Argh,” but he doesn’t drop his gun, so I give him a few more in quick succession: I’m talking at least 5-knee presses back to my chest and then unleashing that invisible elastic band into the bridge of his nose with the soles of my feet. I connect with his nostrils and forehead as well.

He tries to manically go for my quarter-length sky blue leg- jeans and drag me out, but I swing the other leg at the side of his face with the toe-box: front of the boot. I wouldn’t ask myself how I did it? But I did. And it was a direct hit that possibly caused his ear to ring and the side of his temple to implode.

He groans as he mistakenly drops his guard and covers his ear. I take the chance to lift the back of his jacket and t-shirt in a tussle; taking out my blade with one hand and jouking him into the side of his back: on the one end … and then the other with an added screw-in to make it really hurt.

“Arghhhhhh!” He’s furious as he frantically tries to get out before I stab him again. I give him an extra boot on the top of his shoulder to make it quick before slamming the passenger door and climbing into the front seat. He also drops the gun into the foot compartment but has no time to recollect it.

The i***t left his car keys in the ignition lock cylinder as he totters on his trotters with both hands protecting the points where I stabbed him – trying to keep any blood from spilling. He looks like a cockerel ready to cuckoo-doodle-do! He can barely bash the window that I’m now winding up: he removes his arm before it faces the gauntlet. Through minced words, he says, “You f*****g fool! You had a chance here. But now … you’re in this deeper!”

If he said anymore I was already treading down meanly on that clutch; firmly holding that steering wheel; checking the side window to see his face chasing after me as I make a U-turn to go back in the opposite direction.

I had company would be what I have to say next as I see that the man with the moustache is getting ready to fire at me through the right window that he now winds down. I don’t stop as Mr. Slime-Ball tries to catch up whilst screaming, “shoot the b***h, Terrence! Shoot her now!” And it distracts me a little

A silver firearm is what I see brandishing itself out as Terrence tries to do the spectacular and come over to the left seat to fire at me as I pass. I can’t break or turn around because through all that clenched pain is a man who wants his car back and won’t give up! His last breath has been hitting him since he started to chase, and I’m coming up to Terrence. He’ll have a clean shot. I try and think of how fast I can duck down and avoid the bullet. I’m close. f**k. f**k. f**k.

I forgot that Elisha was in the car, and I have a split-second to make eye contact and see that he takes his thumb and ring finger - and presses it violently against Terrence’s neck arteries to cause a lack of air … just in time for me to speed on to a point where not one of them can catch up in time. I keep my eyes sharp for a gunshot to go off. But none does. I owe him. I’ll do my best to pay my dues. I’ll get Elisha back. But I need … I need to see a guy about a few things.