Mommy steps outside. “Be careful enuh, mi son.” She places her hand on my shoulder.
I nod and glance back. Jordane already sliding into the passenger seat. “Weh yuh deh go?” Mommy gasps.
“We a go good,” Jordane answers before she can say anything else. She looks at me for backup and I just smile.
Seet deh Jordane nah lef yuh.
“We a go good,” I echo.
She gives us a worried look. “Mi a go call Gutta dem,” she breathes.
I shake my head. “This soft, man.”
She sighs, heavy. “Arite, mi bwoy.”
I look at her. “How yuh gwaan like this nuh soft, Mommy?” I grin, trying to ease the tension.
“Bwoy… mi nuh wah nutt’n go do unuh,” she says, voice low.
“Promise mi nah mek nutt’n do me or Jordane,” I tell her, eyes steady.
She nods slow, arms folded tight across her chest like she’s holding in fear. She don’t answer, just steps back inside, herslippers dragging quiet on the tile. I slide into the car. The engine already warm, rumbling low. Jordane beside me, leg bouncing. Hands clenched.
“A some idiot bwoy enuh,” he mutters. “But mi never wah yuh get involved.”
I grip the steering wheel. “Mi nah mek nobody violate mi family.” He leans back when I say that, staring out the window.
“No joke.”
I glance over. “Weh Lorie deh?”
“She more fi deh a the bar,” he replies, jaw tight. “She nuh have no yaad. Even though she affi sleep somewhere still, mi feel seh she deh deh now.”
I nod, feeling the same dread building in my chest. The road narrows. Potholes now. Zinc fences. Graffiti on the wall with names scratched out and replaced. Boys with no shirt play ball in the dust with a crushed bottle. A dog limps across the lane.
I slow down as the bar comes into view. “Yow Jordane,” I say, “Mi nuh wah you come out enuh.”
“You one, bredda?”
“Yah. You just deh yah fi watch mi back if things go south.”
He pauses, then nods once. “Alright. So gimme a gun then.”
I breathe out. Real low. “Nah give yuh. But if yuh need it, it in yasso.” I tap the glove compartment. He opens it, sees it, closes it back without a word. Him calm. Too calm. I study him. The stillness. The sharpness in his eyes. Same way mi used to be… before mi first kill.
I close my eyes and whisper a prayer. I was almost sure God wouldn’t pick up his line for it. I do it anyway. “Daddy did say we fi do this,” he says, eyes still forward. I don’t respond. Just nod. Mask on. Gloves on. Gun ready.
“Bwoy name?”
“Him that, him name Denzil,” Jordane says, eyes steady as he points him out. I nod, locking on the target.
Oh, bwoy deh dead already.
“Mi know him,” I say low.
Jordane bumps his fist to mine. “Stay safe enuh.”
I nod back, heart steady but racing. I pull the ski mask over my face, slide my gloves on tight. One gun in my hand, another tucked deep in my waist. I step out the car slow, careful not to draw attention. Mi cya afford fi mek dem suspect nutt’n.
