My eyes finds Genius when he starts speaking. He’s my technician. “Yow G mi check the address weh yuh gimme and from the shooting him nuh guh deh back enuh.”
Bay foolishness a gwan.
“Mami, stay pan di phone,” I say, stepping closer to the computer. I stare at the screen while Genius explains a whole heap of code business that honestly flies over mi head. Still, I listen. Watch. Try to piece together what I can.
“Ah mek dat stay,” I mutter under my breath, trying to calm the rage bubbling inside. “Him cya hide forever.”
“Mami?” I call again.
“Yeah,” she answers, voice low and drowsy.
“Mi wah yuh give mi the number weh call yuh,” I tell her, and I hear her start shuffling around. I turn to the others in the room. They’re all paying attention now. Waiting.
“Yow, a number call har zeen, but dem alter dem voice. And the fact seh dem never private di number? That alone a say supm.”
Everyone quiets down, focused. “Like dem want har call back,” Gutta says from the side, arms folded.
My point exactly.
“But dem know seh wi can find dem easily if dem nuh hide it, so wah dem bout?” Junior asks, a little flustered.
My eyes narrow. My brain is already ten steps ahead. Too easy. And when things feel too easy, they’re usually a setup. If you don’t hide your number, and you’re smart enough to disguise your voice, then you know I can trace you. So why leave a trail?
Because you want to be found.
Sup’m still nuh right. I can feel it.
“Like dem wah yuh find dem,” Junior mutters, watching me carefully.
I don’t say anything. I just nod. One slow nod that says I already know.
Zara calls my name soft before she starts giving the number. I stay silent. Listening. Memorizing. Five minutes pass. I’m still on the phone with Zara, waiting on the technician. My fingers tap against my leg, controlled, calm. I don’t panic. I never do.
“Mi find suh’m,” Genius finally says.
I step over to him, moving fast, but quiet.
“See the address yer enuh,” he points, and my eyes land on it.
St. James.
I exhale a low laugh, but there’s no humor in it. Just confirmation. I already know. A the bwoy Adonis. Well, more like someone he’s puppeting. Zara said the voice sounded like it was taking orders.
Yah man. He wants me to know it’s him.
“Adonis a do this?” Gutta asks, shocked. “Deh man deh fi dead man.”
“Him a distract we,” I say, voice cold. “But I don’t know from what yet.”
“What’s happening?” Zara asks through the phone.
“Mi mother brother did the shooting at the funeral. We a try find him but see him call yuh and we sto—”
Dat him want we do enuh… stop.
Shift our focus. Pause the chase.
But I don’t buy it. Mi nuh feel him deh a Mobay. The voice? Yeah… that one is in Mobay. Adonis is pulling the strings from somewhere else. Someone else is just doing the talking.
