< Situations And Revelations Of Passing Notice In Guyana >
Locket # 17
My "office" is in Georgetown. You want to contact me, you call a number.
A voice tells you to leave your number. I call you back.
You tired waiting for "justice"? you want somebody gone? a husband, your boss,
somebody you consider "a very bad person"? I take care of it.
When I get back to you I arrange to meet on the seawall. Not face to face.
You sit on the old iron bench near the bandstand, stare out at the sea, and
we talk business on the phone.
Next day you return, drop off an envelope with a photo of the target. And
$5000.00 US. First installment.
I don't have the time, and I not inclined, to play games. You can't play games
with me.
My work method? 100 percent effective. Snake encounter. Once the element
is "delivered" (through a breach into the system) the target is on his way into
the clouds. No guns and blood, no getaway motor cycles.
Your life scales jangling out of balance? my office can help set them level
and straight again. Quiet and perfecto.
So far my clients are happy with our results. They like to think the "bad person"
suffered his last hours on earth in hopeless, slow motion. Gives them some
"payback" satisfaction.
My system? Okay, once I have the target photo. I select the location. Next, I
have to arrange the moment of delivery. Which means scouting the target's
routines, where he works, what time he leaves his house, to jog, meet with
friends at a restaurant. His morning or afternoon stroll, if he's an old man.
All of this takes time (it consumes my weekends). Sometimes clients get anxious.
They call to find out what's going on. I tell them straight, if you change your
mind and cancel the agreement, you can have the first installment back (minus
expenses). Otherwise be patient. And don't contact me again.
When everything is finally set, my delivery man steps in. His name is Jonathan.
He is an Amerindian from our Northwest District.
A few years back I went with a television film crew following a Government
Minister around. We arrived at Morawhanna and I saw this man moving and
rolling diesel drums toward the stelling for boat loading. Short, stocky, bare
chest young man, like me in his early thirties, pushing these drums.
I was about to roll film on him but he gave me a look that said STOP. And mind
your own business. Unusual behavior for a "bushman".
Later that afternoon I saw him standing outside a bar like he guarding the air
around him. I offered to buy him a drink. The man can hold his liquor without
getting loud.
He said he was a snake expert. Knew which snakes dangerous, what to do if
you make contact. I ordered another round and listened.
He told me once he got rid of a man, a soldier who came up to the Northwest
with our Defence Force for military training. The man started stopping by his
house, kept "troubling" his daughter, a girl of seventeen.
One morning the man was found dead. Snake encounter. Everyone assumed it
was by accident. In the bush.
We looked out at the river, at canoes pushing off and quietly gliding away.
Jonathan sat not twitching or glancing around or staring. But he notices every-
thing that moves. Behind his smile you can't really tell what he's thinking. He
might seem docile, but he's not an ordinary man.
The thing about snakes, he says, there's no problem once you go about your
business and leave them alone. The law of the forest. Jonathan is my delivery
man. He has come face to face with snakes.
How our partnership got going is not important. When I have a client agreement
signed up, I summon him to Georgetown. We discuss the where and the when.
I leave the execution part to him.
How he completes the agreement I honestly don't know. Once I confirm mission
accomplished, the target stiff and departed, Jonathan takes the next steamer
back to the North West. Quiet and perfecto.
I used to wonder how he operated. Once I joked with him, You have your blow
pipe ready? He gave me that look again, STOP. I don't know if he felt insulted,
or maybe he was saying some things are not in my interest to know. And I didn't
want to appear to be meddling in his side of the business.
*
Let me advise, I prefer working with "high-end" clients. People with financial
resources. Who understand the importance of discretion.
My first client was a lady who flew in from New York. Her husband was "giving
her problems". She tried easing her conscience, explaining about the man.
About property in his name that should be in her name and some outside woman
he had.
I stopped her right there. I not interested in client anger and history. Five
thousand now, Five thousand later. Nice clean US currency, thank you.
She dropped off the package at the designated spot by the seawall and went
back to New York. I told her, Next time you coming, bring clothes for a funeral.
She was really impressed with my work because I got a second call, and a third
call saying I had been "recommended". Next thing I know the business rolling.
Jonathan isn't paid in cash. He is not interested in "money" per se. He would
send word about things he needed. Tools, boat equipment, household items,
spare parts.
[And "The Magnificent Seven", an old Western movie I came across. We watch
it every time he comes to town. Rocking in the chair and laughing when at
the end Eli Wallach, the bandidos leader, shot and dying, asks Yul Brynner,
the gunfighter hired to defend the Mexican villagers, "A man like you, why?
A place like this, why?"]
So I make the purchases. Arrange for the goods to be put on the next Northwest
steamer. That's how tight we move and anchor.
You shouldn't think of Jonathan as a cold, heartless person. He's a good man.
He assumes the targets I chose had done something really bad and deserved
what he got. I don't think he'll forget how that Defence soldier from Georgetown
"troubled" his daughter.
When his wife Sara came to Georgetown for dental treatment, I arranged
everything. Took care of the accommodation, the bills. I told her not to let
the dentist do any extraction, no matter what he says. Jonathan was truly
happy.
The business makes him feel there's someone in this world who knows him and
respects his "bush" knowledge. In matters of life or death this man knows how
to read the tides.
When he's boarding the Northwest steamer for home, we do our "Magnificent
Seven" routine. "A man like you, why?" I shout and wave. "A place like this,
why?" he smiles and shouts back. Partners for life, yes.
*
Lately, I have to admit, things have been bothering me. A few niggling things.
No, I'm not having "qualms", or second thoughts.
You watch people going about their normal, innocent-looking lives, you can't
tell what bad things they really responsible for. Sometimes I wonder: what if
the target didn't deserve his abrupt departure? Was it something he did, or
was it something he refused to do?
I stop. I stay focused: scouting the right place for "delivery", trying out best
times for Jonathan to make his move.
So far we've made no mistakes, no second attempt. Done! like clockwork, with
all-clear midnight chimes.
I still curious, though, about Jonathan, how he operates. Like, how does he
make "the insertion"? with a jook or a nick? some kind of brush past cat
scratch? And what is his equipment?
I remain in the dark about these technical aspects. When you've in his
company long enough, you sense deep inside an unforgiving capacity, put it
that way. Makes you keep a little distance. People assume an Amerindian in
Georgetown, fellow so quiet, no harm could possibly come from him.
*
The other day this Georgetown businessman who I will not name somehow got
my office number, and called wanting to "hire my business". Insisting we meet
person to person.
I told him no, that wouldn't happen. He got angry. Threatened to "expose" me.
I told him go ahead. If you know me, expose me. And I told him, Watch your
step, in case something real bad suddenly happen to you. I throw away the cell
phone.
So for the time being, I practicing a little caution. Not accepting any and every
call. Limiting myself to three, four "agreements" a year.
I had a photo of Jonathan, bare chest, his hair pulled in a warrior knot behind
his head; and he's holding up a bushmaster like it's a trophy or his favourite
house pet. I deleted it. Just in case.
When I feel ready to proceed as per normal, I'll resume. And if things get
personal and threatening again, or if suddenly I find I can't sleep at night, I'll
close up shop.
People like that businessman, all threat and no class, don't qualify for my
attention. Plenty young men looking for work, playing Jamaican Gangsta with
guns ̶ is them he should call. They always ready for "good money" and next
day front page news.
You see this place? Always some big man, with a patch on one eye, and one big
solution ̶ the only solution ̶ for every problem. Poisoning this land with
delusions and wrongdoing. So I say, yes! bad eye for bad eye, snake tooth with
snake tooth.
(Name Withheld)
Georgetown, Guyana
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 