📍Bottom Lane, Warwick Avenue
Mava's Shop

JODIE

The first time I hear about the murder, I'm in my aunt's shop, counting the change from a pack of cigarettes I just sold to one of the regulars.

My friend and neighbour had been filling me in, but I'd barely been listening since my focus was on selling.

When I'm through, I lock the money away in the drawer Aunty Mava keeps it in, before turning back to her, picking up my phone.

"Alright, wah yawh say now, Tash."

She'd just been telling me that there was a shooting up the lane last night. I must've been sleeping soundly because I hadn't heard a thing.

"Girl, mi cyaa believe seh yuh never hear!" Tash's voice is shrill, her acrylic nails tapping against the counter as she leans in. "Dem say a the big bad Gravy dem kill, masa. Man dem slap him weh like noth'n to rahtid."

The words hit like a slap to my chest. I stop scrolling, my thumb hovering stiff above the screen.

"Wait! Wah? Gravy?" I ask, my throat suddenly dry. "Dead?"

Gravy? As in Lester's right-hand man?

Top Lane's most ruthless gunman?

Wah Tash really a say?

Tash nods, her eyes wide with excitement--like this is just another piece of community gossip to dissect over the bag juice and bun she's eating. "Yeah, mi gyal. Shot clean inna him head."

She leans in. "And guess who mi hear say dweet?"

My heart skips a beat. "Who?"

"Hear seh a Teflon sah."

The name slams into me harder than the news itself. My stomach clenches.

"Weh yuh say likkle while?" I ask, shocked, and confused, although I heard her clearly.

Teflon?

As in...

Dario?

I haven't seen him in weeks, but the last time I did, he was still the same--- quiet, reserved Dario who hated the attention, was paranoid as hell, always acting like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Typical Dario.

Weird, yes.

Bipolar, definitely.

Antisocial nuh rass!

Nothing new.

But a killer?

No sah!

...why are you acting surprised? Wah yuh think dem a do when dem parr round Lester and him man dem?

I push the thought behind me.

I don't know how long I stand there, staring into nothingness, but Tash doesn't notice. She just keeps going, relishing the details. "Mi hear say a Lester sen' him. Some kinda loyalty test." She scoffs. "Mi swear di boy did have sense, enuh. But a Dario, dawk like midnight, so mi shouldn't even shock."

I swallow hard, forcing my face to stay neutral. "Mi nuh believe it," I say, but my voice wavers.

Tash rolls her eyes. "Believe wha yuh waan believe, babes. But di whole place a talk."

I don't answer. My fingers grip the counter, my nails pressing into the wood.

This doesn't feel real.

Dario's not like that. I mean, he's been in deep with Lester and his crew for a while, but murder? Gravy at that?

While I know what Lester and his men signify in the community, I still find it hard to process this. Dario? Gravy?

Hell no! He has to tell me that to my face before I believe it.

As a matter of fact...

I shake my head, grabbing my phone and the shop key. "Mi soon come."

"Weh yawh go, miss!?"

"Mi say mi soon come." Yuh deaf? Stepping around the counter, I close the partition door securely, adding, "If Aunty come back before mi, tell her mi soo' come."

Before Tash can respond, I step out of the shop, the humid air hitting me like a wall. My head is spinning.

From both the news and the heat.

My mind drifts to such man again.

I need to find him.

So I head up the lane, the gravel crunching beneath my crocs as I walk.

The atmosphere outside is thick with tension, the kind that settles over the neighborhood when something big happens. The kind that makes people talk in hushed voices on their veranda, or lock themselves in their houses, peeking through half-drawn curtains.

I don't know how I hadn't taken notice before.

But mi head nuh really deh yah today, so anything is possible.

I pull my phone from my pocket, my fingers shaking slightly as I scroll to Dario's number. I hesitate. What the hell am I even going to say?

Yuh alright?

A true say yuh kill Gravy?

My stomach twists.

I don't want to believe it, but Tash isn't the type to lie about something like this. And if it really was a test from Lester...

I press the call button before I can overthink it.

The phone rings.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then goes straight to voicemail.

"Shit."

I try again and it's the same result.

I exhale sharply, gripping the device so tight my knuckles could turn white. I shouldn't be this affected. Dario and I? We haven't been close in a long time. Not since he started moving with Lester's crew.

But still.

I continue walking, my feet slapping against the pavement as I hastily move toward the yard where I know he'll be. I don't even have to ask for directions--everybody knows where Lester and his men post up.

By the time I reach, the sun is dipping low, casting a burnt-orange glow over the zinc fences. Laughter and the scent of weed drift from the yard, but underneath it, there's an edge, separate from the usual tension which tends to linger around places like these.

Peeking through a hole in the fence, I scan the yard.

The men are scattered all around, some beating dominoes, some chatting, smoking, drinking, while others stand as guards.

Gyal, yuh sure yuh waan go in yasso?

Bottom Lane and Top Lane are separated by one long stretch of road which meet at a conjunction at Warwick Avenue. However, the communities barely coexist, with one clear rule: Bottom Lane man dem fi tan pon fi dem endz, while Top Lane people do the same. None nuffi cross borders unless it's crucial.

Else a dirt.

With that thought, I hesitate for half a second, before pushing through the gate.

This, to me, is crucial enough.

Kimbo is the first to see me. He's leaned up against a wall nearest to the gate, smoking, his beady eyes narrowing when he spots me. "Yow, weh yawh do yah?"

I straighten my shoulders. "I came to see Dario."

Kimbo chuckles, shaking his head. "Yuh brave, eeh?"

I ignore him, my gaze sweeping across the yard. Then I spot him.

Dario is sitting off to the side, a Dragon Stout in his hand, his head slightly bowed as he listens to Lester talk. His black hoodie is pulled up, shadowing his face, but I know it's him.

I study him for a brief moment, noting the sharp cut of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tap against the bottle like he's trying to distract himself from his own thoughts.

I move forward and, as if sensing my presence, the yard immediately goes silent, all eyes now fixed on me.

He looks up. Our eyes meet.

And for a split second, something flickers across his face.

Surprise?

Then it's gone, replaced with that unreadable expression he's mastered over the years.

Lester notices me then, his smirk slow and predatory. "Well, well," he drawls, leaning back in his chair. "Look like somebody come check fi yuh, Dawg."

Laughter ripples through the yard.

And a chill runs through me. How Dario stand dah man yah, man?

Dario doesn't move at first. But then, slowly, he sets down the Dragon bottle on the concrete block beside him, pushes up from his seat, and walks toward me.

His steps are measured, his face blank.

But his eyes?

They tell a different story.

My heart pounds against my ribs as Dario stops in front of me. Close enough that I can smell the lingering scent of gunpowder on his hoodie, mixed with cologne, liquor, and weed.

He doesn't say anything.

Neither do I.

Around us, the yard goes back to being loud--men laughing, dominos slamming against a wooden table, Lester murmuring something to one of his soldiers--but in this moment, it's just me and him.

I swallow hard. "I was calling you."

His jaw flexes. He shifts, looking over his shoulder, like he doesn't want to have this conversation here.

"Can we go somewhere and talk?" My voice is quieter now. I don't care about putting on a show for Lester and his boys. I just need to talk to him.

For a second, I think he's going to refuse. But then he nods, slow and deliberate.

I turn on my heel, walking back toward the gate. I don't check to see if he's following--I know he is. I can hear his quiet footsteps behind me.

By the time we're outside the yard, standing near the old blue and white shop on the corner, the sun has fully set. The streetlights flicker, casting long shadows on the pavement.

I turn to face him. "Dario--"

"You shouldn't be here." His voice is low, rough.

Does he think I wanted to come to this dump?

To risk my life 'cross borders?

I fold my arms. "Then yuh shoulda answer mi call."

He exhales through his nose, tilting his head back slightly like he's trying to keep his temper in check. "Mi busy, Jodie."

Busy?

Really?

"Busy? Wow! Busy doing wah, Dario? Busy killing people?" The words slip out before I can stop them. Oh well...

Dario's entire body tenses. His eyes darken. His face hardest.

I should be scared.

But I'm not.

Not of him at least.

"Mi never come fi argue," I say, after his silence stretches for a minute longer than I like, my voice steady. "Mi just...mi just waan know if a true."

So how yawh accuse him and yuh nuh sure if it's true?

Silence stretches between us despite the different sounds in the distance--cars passing, music playing from someone's speaker, a baby crying somewhere up the lane.

Then he sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. "Jodie, go home."

I take a step closer. "So it is true?"

His jaw tightens.

I feel my chest squeeze. "Dario..."

He looks at me then, really looks at me. And for the first time tonight, I see something crack through the mask he's been wearing.

Regret.

Guilt.

Something else I can't name.

"Mi never have a choice." His voice is so low I almost don't hear it.

But I do.

And it breaks something inside me.

My breath catches.

I don't know what I expected him to say. Maybe some lie to make me feel better. Or, maybe some lame excuse to push me away. But not that.

Not 'Mi never have a choice'.

His admission sits heavy in the air between us, thick and suffocating.

"Everybody have a choice, Dario," I whisper.

Dario lets out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "Not me."

His voice is quiet, but there's something deadly about the way he says it, like he's trying to convince himself more than me.

"Why?"

"Yo, just leggo offa dat, bro."

OK then...

I step closer, my hands trembling at my sides. "So a wah now? Yuh just ago pretend like dis never happen? Like Gravy never exist? Yawh hear yuhself?"

Dario flinches.

That one obviously hit a nerve.

Good.

"Yuh cyaa continue act like this nawh affect yuh, D! T'ink mi nuh know how much him mean to yuh? Or yuh figot?" My voice wobbles, but I keep going. "Mi memba when yuh used to seh him a di only real father yuh ever have. And now look pon yuh. Mi cyah believe yuh do dis, D."

He clenches his fists, his shoulders rigid.

"Yuh nuh undastand," he mutters, his voice holding an edge.

"Den mek mi undastand nuh." I step right up to him, close enough to see the way the muscles in his jaw twitches under his skin. "Mek mi undastand how di same man weh mi used to know like the back a mi hand turn into dis...cold-heart killer overnight."

His eyes flick to mine, dark and fiery. But underneath all that anger, I see something else.

Something that makes my throat tighten.

Pain.

"Mi tell yuh already, Jodie," he says, voice low, tired. "Mi never have a choice."

I stare at him, searching his face for something-anything-that will tell me he's still the same boy I used to know.

The same boy who used to sneak me sweeties when I was little. The same boy who used to hold my hand when we crossed the road. The same boy who did my SBAs for me when I didn't know what the fuck to do. The same boy who had big dreams of becoming a part of the JDF, and being someone better than his father was. The same boy who once promised me he would never be like them.

But I don't see that boy anymore.

All I see is a man with blood on his hands and an emptiness in his eyes; a mirror of his father.

And it fucking hurts.

A lump rises in my throat. "Den wah dat mean fi we?" My voice is barely above a whisper.

Dario doesn't answer.

He just looks at me, and for the first time, I realize he's already made his choice.

And it's not me.

Tears burn the back of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Not in front of him. I nod, stepping back, putting space between us.

"Mi sorry, Dario," I murmur, shaking my head. "Mi know we nuh as close again, but mi did hope it was just a phase. But clearly it's not. Yuh change. And...mi nuh know...mi cyaah love somebody who mi affi fear."

His face hardens, his expression going back to being blank. "Mi never ask yuh fi love mi, Jodie."

Wow.

That stings more than I want to admit.

I swallow the pain, blinking fast. "Good."

And then I turn and walk away, leaving him standing there under the fucked-up streetlight.

. . .

My legs feel unsteady as I walk away, but I keep moving. I don't look back. If I do, I might break.

The night wind nips at my bare skin, and I wrap my arms around my body as a shield.

I don't stop walking until I reach my gate. My fingers tremble as I pull it open, slipping inside, quickly shutting it behind me.

Although I'm home safe, my heart is still racing, my hands still shaking.

'Mi cyaah love somebody mi affi fear.'

The words replay in my head, over and over, like a song stuck on repeat. I meant them. I swear I did.

So why do I feel like I just lost a piece of myself?

No, Dario and I are not in a sexual relationship...but I've been in love with him ever since we were in primary school. And that bond we had had grown stronger over the years. He was my best friend, after all.

And I know it's wrong to have harboured those kinds of feelings for someone you claimed to be your best friend, but I couldn't help it. Still can't.

Pressing my back against the door, I exhale a shaky breath. The house is dark, silent, but I know Mommy is inside, probably already sleeping. She wouldn't have expected me home so early, anyway.

I usually stay with Aunty at the shop until she closes. But not tonight.

I feel sick to my stomach. I should go to bed. Try to sleep. Try to pretend like everything is normal, although I know it's not.

Instead, I walk to the small bathroom, flicking on the light. The fluorescent glow is too bright, too harsh. I blink against it, gripping the edge of the sink.

My reflection stares back at me. My eyes are red, lips pressed tight.

I look different.

Like something inside me shifted tonight. Like I'm not the same girl who left this house earlier today.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Don't cry. Don't cry.

But it's no use. The first tear slips down my cheek, then another, then another--until I'm gripping the sink so hard my knuckles hurt, my body shaking with silent, angry sobs.

I hate him.

I hate this!

I hate that even now, after everything, some stupid, traitorous part of me still wants to run back to him. And hug him so tightly. I know he must be going through hell despite the facade he's putting on.

But I won't.

I can't.

It's not only stupid, it's dangerous.

Being up by Top Lane, at this time of night, as a woman, is like a suicide mission.

I sniff, wiping my face roughly, forcing myself to breathe. I can't let this break me. I won't let it break me.

I straighten up, squaring my shoulders, meeting my own gaze in the mirror.

Dario made his choice.

Of the options to choose badness or our friendship:

He chose badness.

Now, it's time for me to make mine.

. . .

Monday
6:39 A.M.

I wake up feeling like I barely slept.

My body is heavy, my mind foggy, but the ache in my chest is what reminds me last night was real.

I drag myself out of bed, ignoring the stiffness in my limbs. The house is quiet, but the scent of coffee lingers in the air--Mommy must've already left for work.

Good.

I'm not in the mood for her questions.

I move through my morning routine mechanically--shower, brush my teeth, pull on some jeans and a tank top. My appetite is nonexistent, so I skip breakfast, grabbing my bag and stepping outside.

The sun is bright, the neighborhood alive; like a cold blooded murder didn't happen only two nights ago. Guess Bottom Lane people dem serious say dem nawh mix up inna Top Lane affairs.

Everything feels normal.

But not to me.

I pull my phone from my bag, scrolling past unread messages, ignoring the ones from two of my cousins asking if I'm still coming out with them, later. They'd planned on going to Shack Bar, for drinks, but I'm honestly no longer in the mood. Sigh.

My fingers hover over Dario's name.

Then I lock my phone and shove it back into my bag.

No.

I can't do this.

I need to move forward with my life.

And there's only one way to do that.

I take a deep breath and start walking, my steps sure, my mind made up.

It's time to cut all ties.

Once and for all.

. . .

The walk to the taxi stand feels longer than usual. Maybe because my mind won't shut up.

I stop at the corner shop before I reach the main road, smiling when I see the shop keeper seated at the front, flipping through this morning's print of the Observer.

"Morning," I say, stepping up the concrete steps.

"Morning, Suzan sweet pickney."

I smile a bit wider at that. "Yuh alright? How di knee?"

He fell some time ago and slipped out his right knee, and had recently been complaining that he's feeling a lot pain in it.

Mr. Collins eyes me over his newspaper, his lips drawing into a frown. "Bwoi, it deh yah eno. Dem bwoy carry mi go one new doctor yessideh, o, Friday, and mi get some different medication. So mek wi' see..."

"OK. Love that."

I stop in front of him, leaning on one of the shop's column.

His eyes settle on me properly. And his frown deepens. "Yuh look tired, Jodie. Yuh alright?"

I sigh. "Long night."

Mr Collins hum, then nods toward the fridge. "Grab sum'n, from desso, fi liven yuh up then, mi girl. Me'll put it pon yuh tab."

I don't have a tab. And I know it's his way of offering me free goodies.

I always stop by him in the mornings, as long as his shop is opened when I'm passing by, and he never lets me leave empty handedly. As mi nice likkle big man fren.

I force a smile, pulling open the glass door and reaching for a cold bottle of Ting.

"Thank you, mi tek this," I tell him, showing him the soda bottle. "Later. A go pon di road likkle and come back."

He simply nods, and I take that as my cue to leave.

I twist off the cap as I leave, taking a sip, hoping the citrus fizz will wake me up.

It doesn't.

Sigh.

The taxi stand is busy--people moving in and out, voices blending into a chorus, the morning rush in full swing.

I pull my bag tighter against my side, scanning the area.

I don't even know why.

It's not like someone's gonna pull up and grab it.

I exhale sharply and head toward the line forming for Half-Way Tree taxis. But before I can step up, onto the platform, someone grabs my wrist.

My breath catches.

I turn fast, my body tensing--

It's Tasha.

Da gyal ya a frighten mi so fah, man!?

I meet her gaze, my brows furrowed. "Wah'pn?"

Her eyes are sharp, her grip firm. "Girl, yawh avoid mi or sum'n?"

I swallow the knot in my throat. "Why yuh ask that?"

Weird much!

"Mi juss a wonder."

"Well, mi nawh avoid a soul. Mi jus' busy, Tash."

I've seen her texting and calling since yesterday evening when I left her at the shop, but I was in no mood to respond. I knew what she would ask. And I didn't want to talk about it.

She scoffs, arms folding across her chest. "A so yuh busy dass yuh cya answer yuh phone?" Lowering her voice, when my only response is a blank stare, she says, "Mi hear say yuh go uppa Lester place, last night. A Dario yuh go to?"

How she hear that and mi never tell har weh mi did a go?

Nonetheless, my heart skips a beat at the mention of his name.

Same thing mi juss say. Knew she'd ask.

I look away, shaking my head. "Mi nuh waan talk bout it."

She exhales through her nose, studying me. Then she steps closer, her voice dropping.

"Jodie... yuh nuh fraid a him after wah dem say him do?"

Shi deaf say mi nuh waa talk bout it!?

Something inside me cracks, just a little.

But before I can respond, a car horn blares just a few feet away from us.

The silver Mark X rolls slowly up the avenue, drawing everyone's attention, the bass from the speakers vibrating through the ground, as the sound of a Chronic Law song comes from it.

Awah this now?

A chill slithers up my spine as my gaze remains fixed on the slow-approaching vehicle. Crisp. Sleek. Well tinted.

When you live in a community like this, certain types of cars pulling up puts you on high alert. Especially when moving so slowly through a crowded space.

Worse tension done hot 'round yasso already since the killing.

My heart skips another beat.

The car continues up the street in its same fashion. Like the person behind the wheel is looking for someone.

It stops at our feet.

And my stomach drops.

I want to move, but my limbs feel heavy.

The window rolls down.

Dario.

His eyes find mine, dark and unreadable.

My throat tightens.

Tasha shifts beside me, watching him, then looking back at me. "Nuh him that...?"

Why she nuh move?

Dario's eyes narrow into slits as he continues to stare at me. I know he's nonverbally commanding me to come inside the car.

But I can't move.

I can't even breathe.

The world around me fades--Tasha's voice, the taxi stand noise, everything.

All I see is him.

Dario's eyes hold mine, calm, steady. Like he's daring me to make a foolish move.

My chest tightens.

Tasha nudges me lightly. "Jodie...yuh alright?"

No.

I want to move. Turn around. Walk away. Something. But my feet feel rooted to the pavement.

Dario doesn't say a word. He just tilts his head, studying me, his jaws ticking.

Tasha grips my wrist. "Alright, gyal, see Job taxi a come up di road deh. Come we go dung desso fi get a seat before di crowd!"

I know I should turn around and go with Tasha to take the taxi.

But my hand pulls free, from hers, before my brain even catches up.

Suddenly, I'm walking toward the Mark X.

Tasha calls for me, but I block out her voice.

The passenger door unlocks with a soft click.

And I open it.

Then slide in.

Shutting the door behind me.