📍Top Lane, Warwick Avenue
Kimbo's Shop

DARIO

Days pass, but it all feels like a blur.

Can't even tell if it's Tuesday or Saturday, some days; they all feel the same.

Everything is muted, like I’m watching my life from outside myself.

Regardless, I still have shit to do, so I still wake up early, still bathe, still throw on my clothes and go do whatever shit Lester schedules into my calendar for that day.

Every day, it’s the same routine. Some nights, there's a slight difference ——we run routes, checking up on Lester’s businesses. Other nights, I stay home, staring at the ceiling, trapped in my fucked up mind.

And then there’s Jodie.

I haven't seen or spoken to her in days.

She hasn’t blocked my number, but she doesn’t call either. When I text, she takes hours to respond. When I ask if she wants to link up, she makes excuses—"Mi have schoolwork" or "Mi busy"—like she’s trying to put some sort of distance between us.

And, for some reason, it bothers the fuck out of me.

Can’t say I blame her though.

I wouldn’t want to be around me either.

Fuck, I don't want to be around me as it is.

That's why I decided to leave my house on a day like today. I needed to clear my head.

Right now, I’m at Kimbo’s shop, sitting on a stool by the door while he cashes out a customer.

The place is small but always busy——cigarettes, phone cards, snacks, liquor. If you need something, Kimbo probably has it. Plus him price him things dem likkle bit more reasonable than the rest a shop dem pon the lane.

So, I guess it makes sense.

"Wah yawh drink?" he asks, tossing a pack of Wrigley's into the bag for the woman at the counter.

The woman takes the bag with a quarter loaf of bread, one milo, two green tins of mackerel and the gum from him. She turns on her heels and walk out of the shop, her eyes glancing over me as she passes.

"Mi good, man," I say when my eyes follow the woman out, ensuring she is out of earshot.

"Likkle rum cyaan hurt, dawg." He gives me a knowing look. "Help steady yuh medz certain way..."

When I don't respond, he adds, "Mi pree say yuh been a move a way since di t'ing wid Gravy, same way, dawg...yuh sure yuh good?"

Kimbo is one of the few who truly understands the connection Gravy and I had.

I exhale through my nose, dragging a hand down my face. "Mi jus tired, man."

A 'bout two o'clock this morning mi fawud een from a mission. Beat out and tired nuh fuck. But that's not the real issue.

Kimbo doesn’t press the issue, for which I'm grateful. He just nods and passes me a Magnum. "Pon di house."

"Respect."

I take it, immediately twisting off the cap and taking a sip, feeling the sweet burn of the liquor hit my throat.

My eyes circle my surroundings.

Outside, a couple young yutes sit on a Honda Civic, arguing over which dancehall artist has the most hits. A car horn blasts down the street. Across the road, two brown mongrel dogs are fighting over a styrofoam box one pulled from the overflowing garbage bin on the sidewalk. Somewhere in the distance, a baby cries.

I sigh, bringing the bottle to my lips again, feeling an emptiness in my chest.

Yuh know what's funny about this shit? The fact that life keeps moving.

But I feel stuck.

My lips curl into a scowl, and I shift on the stool.

When mi ago find some pussyclaat peace, dawg?

My mind drifts to a certain someone, at the thought, and my scowl deepens.

I pat my pocket and reach for my phone.

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📍 Bottom Lane, Warwick Avenue
Azar's Residence
12:39 P.M.

JODIE

I didn’t go to class today. I didn't have the energy for it.

Instead, I’m curled up on the couch, lights off, curtains drawn, laptop open, half-watching a Netflix series I can’t focus on. My mother is at work, my little brother is at school, and the house is quiet except for the occasional sound of a passing car outside.

My phone buzzes beside me, and I reach for it, instantly unlocking it with my fingerprint.

A pop-up notification is on the screen. An iMessage.

When I see who it's from, my heart flutters, my thumb hovering above the screen, half hesitant to open it.

I do. Eventually.

Dario: Yuh good?

I sigh, staring at the message.

For the past few days, I’ve been keeping my distance. Not because I hate him, but because I don’t know how to be around him now. The Dario I knew before—playful, stubborn, always trying to make me laugh—feels different. Darker.

Much darker.

And maybe I’m selfish, but I don’t know if I want to be dragged into that darkness with him.

I type a quick 'Yeah, mi good' and send it.

A few seconds later, my phone rings.

I hesitate, then answer. "Hello?"

"How that sound so?" Dario says, his voice rough like he just woke up. Or he'd been smoking. "Yuh sure yuh good?"

I press my fingers against my temple. "I'm fine, Dario. Jus' tired."

And mi head a hurt mi.

"Weh yuh deh now?" I think I detect a hint of concern in his voice, but I'm unsure.

Anyways, why are you keeping tabs on me, sir? I sigh. "Home."

Silence. Then—"Yuh eat already?"

I close my eyes. "Why yawh ask mi dat?"

"Cause mi know yuh. When yuh inna yuh head over noth'n, yuh starve yuhself."

Damn.

I guess, he really does know me then.

I shift on the couch. "Mi nuh hungry."

"Mi a pass through wid food."

I sit up. "No—"

"Nuh tell mi dat. Jus' mek sure yuh come outta the gate when mi fawud."

Before I can argue, he hangs up.

I exhale sharply, tossing my phone onto the cushion beside me.

Resisting the urge to giggle and kick my feet, I bite down on my bottom lip. My heart flutters. And I finally smile.

For some reason, it feels good to think that although he might be in a dark place, he still finds time to check in on me.

And even though I’ve been avoiding him, a small part of me is glad he isn’t avoiding me too.

Selfish, I know.

But it's whatevs.

.                .                    .

An hour later, there’s a knock at the front door.

I briefly wonder who it is. I didn't hear a car pull up, neither did he call me to open the gate, so it can't be Dario.

I hesitate before getting up, smoothing down my oversized T-shirt and running a hand through my hair. I wasn’t expecting company today, and I definitely don’t look like I was.

I'm wearing a short black gym tights, which sits right below my ass, my Tshirt is crumpled, and my shoulder-length processed hair is combed into two big granny plaits, some loose stray-aways sticking in all directions.

But mi nuh business. A mi yard mi deh.

Who nuh like it, bite it!

When I pull open the door, Dario is there, in a dark hoodie, drawn over his head, a white plastic bag in his hand and a slight crease between his brows.

My brows furrow as I push myself up on my tippy toes and peer over his shoulder to see the familiar silver Mark-X parked by the fence, but the gate is locked. So how him come een?

Before I can voice my concern, Dario takes one look at me and smirks. "Yuh just a wake?"

I roll my eyes. "Shut up."

He chuckles, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. Yuh better nuh dirty up Mommy carpet, oh!

I bite my lower lip as I take note of his attire. He’s wearing dark fitted jeans and a black T-shirt, underneath the sweater, the chain around his neck glinting under the light. His usual scent— a strong fragrance with a hint of weed—fills the space as he passes me.

I don't realize I'm staring until the sound of his deep voice breaks my train of thought.

"Yuh plan fi stand up desso whole day stare pon mi, badman?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder. "Lock di door, and fawud yasso man."

I exhale, mentally wiping the drool off my chin, before doing as he says, turning the key to lock the door. I then turn facing him, rolling my eyes to hide the blush. "Mi never tell yuh say yuh never affi come?"

Now yuh come a bad mi up...

"And mi tell yuh nuh bother wid the fuckry."

He flicks the lights on, mumbling 'Why di fuck in yasso so dark, badman?' then heads for the kitchen, placing the bag on the counter and pulling out a takeout box.

"Because I was watching a movie, duh," I sass, glaring at him, ensuring he sees it when he looks back at me.

He chuckles lowly before bringing his attention back to the food. "Alright, so this a rice and peas, wid fried chicken, and veg. Mi honestly never 'memba a which one yuh prefer, steamed or raw veg, so mi tek a mix, yuzeet."

Yum.

"Memba mi tell yuh mi nuh hungry...so why yuh buy such a big food?"

As soon as the question leaves my lips, my stomach betrays me with a low growl.

Dario grins. "See it deh, all yuh belly know say a fuckry yawh chat."

I fold my arms, watching as he places it on the table, opens the container and grabs a fork from the drawer like he thinks I'm handicapped or something. When he’s done, he leans against the counter, arms crossed, waiting.

"Mi affi eat in front yuh?" I ask.

"Yeah."

I shake my head but sit at the dining table, pulling the food closer. The smell alone is enough to make me forget why I was hesitant in the first place. I take a bite, and Dario watches me, his eyes narrowed and face painted in his signature blank mask.

"Yuh naffi a watch mi so eno, mi ago eat it," I mutter, forking some of the rice into my mouth.

He shrugs. "Mi nuh trust yuh."

Wow. How comforting.

I shake my head but keep eating.

For a few minutes, there’s silence—comfortable silence. He doesn’t push me to talk, and I don’t press him about whatever is weighing on his mind. And I can tell something is.

Eventually, I glance up. "How are you?"

Dario exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. "Mi deh yah."

"That nuh answer mi question."

He meets my eyes. "Well mi nuh know wah else fi tell yuh then, badman."

That makes my chest tighten. Sum'n else happen?

Dario isn’t the type to open up easily. He never has been. But right now, he looks tired—more than tired, actually.

I reach across the table, my fingers brushing his. "If yuh need fi talk——"

"Mi nuh wah yuh get mix up inna this, yuzeet," he interrupts gently. "Jus know seh…mi good. Mi soo' sort out wah fi sort out, and get back to regular programming, yuzimi."

My throat tightens.

I sigh.

I don’t know what he’s been through these past few days, but I do know one thing——Dario might push people away, but deep down, he doesn’t want to be alone.

And I totally get that.

Because...neither do I.

.        .         .

I continue eating in silence.

Dario stares at me for a while. No talking, not moving much either, just there, casually leaning against the counter, arms folded, watching me eat.

It should be weird, but it isn’t.

It’s actually kinda…sexy?

That mek sense?

The house is quiet except for the clinking of my fork against the container, the occasional sound of a car passing outside, and Dario’s steady, quiet breathing mixed with my chewing.

Surprisingly, I eat more than half of the food, before I push the rest away, my stomach full. "Mi done."

Since yawh play supervisor role.

"Good."

He grabs the container and throws it into the garbage like this is a normal thing to do. This man...

"You not eating?" I ask, watching him. I noticed there's another food box in the bag.

He shakes his head. "Mi good."

That’s a damn lie. I can see it in his face, in the hollowness under his eyes, in the way he keeps licking his lips like his mouth is dry.

"Come mi feed yuh," I tease.

"Nuh bother wid di foolishness, man."

"Watchya! So wah? Badman cyaa tek spoon feeding?"

He hisses his teeth, and I laugh.

"Dario," I call his attention to me when I sober up.

He glances at me, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Hmm?"

"Yuh sure yuh good?"

Silence.

Then——

He shrugs. "Mi govan, man."

I exhale, rubbing my fingers against my temple. Wonder if the ibuprofen dem weh Mommy did have did done?

"Jodz."

I look up.

His gaze is intense, eyes narrowed, studying me. "Wah mek yawh avoid mi?"

I should've known this was coming.

Mussi that's why him come dung yah too.

"I haven't been avoiding you," I say, sitting back in the chair. Lie.

"Yuh too bomboclaat lie."

Biting back the urge to scream out in laughter at his tone, I sigh, looking away.

He steps forward, closing some of the space between us. "Mi did do sum’n wrong?"

I look back at him quickly. Besides telling me you're now a coldblooded murderer? "No."

He studies me, like he’s trying to pick me apart, to see if I’m telling the truth. "Then wah?"

I swallow. "Mi just…" I trail off, searching for the right words. I shrug when I failed to find them.

"Jah Jah. Why mi feel like mi a lose yuh so?" he asks, his voice quieter now.

Says the man who had put me on the side burner for months before now?

Regardless, something tugs in my chest.

I don't intend on icing him out.

That’s not what I want.

But it’s scary, knowing the things I now know.

I still don't know how to deal with this  version of him. I may be over-thinking, or even overreacting, but it's just how I feel, lately.

"You're not losing me, Dario," I tell him. "Mi just…mi nuh know how fi deal wid all a dis. And mi nuh waa yuh feel like mi a judge yuh or sum'n."

He exhales, looking away.

Then he nods, just once.

His expression goes back to being blank. "Mi get it."

And for some reason, that makes me feel worse.

I move forward, stepping into his space before I can second-guess myself.

"Mi just need time," I say softly. "Yuh understand?"

Time fi process things and accept what needs to be accepted.

His jaw tightens. Then he nods. "Yeah."

We stand there for a moment, extremely close, but neither of us moves.

Then—

His phone buzzes.

And he pulls it from his pocket and looks at it.

I see it in his face before he even says a word. Whatever it is, it's serious.

"Mi affi cut," he says, already turning towards the door.

His aura immediately shifts.

The darkness, which I'm slowly becoming accustomed to, creeping back into his eyes.

And I hate it.

"Ago link yuh later," he calls over his shoulder. "And mek sure yuh answer yuh phone."

I want to tell him to stay with me a while longer.

But I don’t stop him.

Because I know, wherever he’s going, he has to go.

And whatever it is he's going to do there, he has to do it.

And that?

That scares me even more.

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📍Top Lane, Warwick Avenue
Big Yard
3:55 P.M.

DARIO

By the time I reach back to base, it's minutes to four. And I have a splitting headache.  I don't know what's causing it, but it feels like my thoughts are all piled up in my head, and I can't sort out which one to deal with first.

I step inside, nodding to the new recruits posted up outside the office. Inside, Lester is behind his desk, counting cash while one a his guards stand near the door.

Lester glances up when I step in. "Yuh late."

I know that, because I took my own sweet time getting here.

'Cause why the fuck yawh call dung mi phone when a you same one send mi go maths up a urgent thing?

More while mi affi wonder if him think say man a bomboclaat bwoy or sum'n!

"Traffic," I lie, easing into the chair across from him.

Lester smirks. "If yuh say suh."

I don't respond. Him can always pree weh di fuck him wah pree.

Sometime a man juss affi learn fi wait and easy him fucking shrivelled up pussyclaat.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Anyway, mi affi update yuh pon a situation. From di t'ing wid Gravy—" He stops counting for a second, his expression tightening. "Some likkle hurry-come-up pussyhole a run up and a try run een inna di wrong places, and mi nuh like that. The place nawh run bloodclaat right!"

I shift forward. "Meaning?"

"Meaning some man a move like dem wah test di waters, push dem limit like dem hear seh issa play thing a keep ova yasso. Dolly house business. And eh cyaa continue so under my watch! We affi remind dem seh we still bomboclaat deh yah."

My fingers tap against my knee. I expected this to happen. When Gravy drop out, a whole power shift happened, and security slackened. Gravy was the enforcer who ensured every man knew their boundaries and stayed within it. Since he was no longer there, men felt free to do whatever the fuck they felt like.

I grind my teeth.

Now it's gonna fall on my shoulders to get them back in line. Because we done know who di fuck naggo dweet. He only makes orders. Nothing else.

This the typa shit I can't stand.

"Eeh? So wah yuh waa mi do?" I simply say.

Lester eyes me for a few seconds as he thinks. He then reattaches the bands around the wad of thousand dollar bills he'd been counting, before tossing it amongst the pile to his left. Extortion money. "Mi need yuh fi link Jase later. Him ago gi' yuh di rundown. And keep yuh head straight, yute. Nuh mek emotions mek yuh slip."

A my emotions yawh worry 'bout?

"See yawh tek time a get soft from di other day. Start a think twice 'bout certain orders, sum'n yuh nuh usually do, but mi a gwaan watch wah yuh up to. Hope ano dah likkle gyal deh weh come ya weh day a cause that eno."

My body tenses at the mention of her. But I keep my expression stoic.

While fighting fucking hard not to send him far up under him dead muma. R.I.P. Mama.

Instead, I huff a short breath. "Mi good, dawg."

Lester looks unconvinced but nods. "Aight. Hold dis," he says, sliding a wad of cash across the desk. "Good work from wah day."

My eyes narrow at the money. It's easily 100K.

Reaching out, I pick up the coil, slipping it into my pocket.

Without another word, I get up and head for the door, leaving him to handle his business.