📍Deacon's Vale, St Catherine
Duppy Hour
3:00 A.M.

DARIO

It's about 3:00 A.M. when we pull up to the location of our next mission.

We park along the curb, just a few blocks down, for a couple minutes and wait.

The night is eerily silent, the atmosphere heavy, shrouded with the kind of tension that tells you something bad is about to happen.

And it is.

I'm anticipating a text. And once I get it, that's it.

I recline the seat, close my eyes and inhale deeply. My fingers twitch from where my hand is resting on my thigh, my glock casually resting on my lap.

About ten minutes past three, my phone buzzes and I unlock it.

Plug: Juss leff. Coast clear.

Ah.

Kimbo looks from my phone to my face.  “T'ing good now?”

“Yah.”

I ease up and tighten the 'kerchief around my face, then pull the black hoodie over my head, concealing my face completely.

Kimbo does the same, with the Balaclava he's wearing.

He tucks one of the biggest fucking knives I've ever seen into his waist. Then smirks.

Shaking my head at him, I push the car door open, telling him to, “Fawud.”

The yard is secured by high concrete walls, but my plug had already left the gate ajar, as planned, so we easily slip through.

There are no dogs in this yard, but I can hear some barking from a few houses down.

I duck my head and move to the side of the yard leading to the back of the unfinished house.

I grip the Glock tighter, stepping past a couple blue barrels, and the huge heap of gravel by the fence, my heartbeat steady.

“Yuh sure him deh inside?” Kimbo whispers, shifting beside me, his breath hot with impatience.

I nod, my eyes locked on the dimly lit room to the far back. “Mi nuh miss, bredda.”

Kimbo exhales sharply, rubbing his palms together like he can already feel the blood money slipping between his fingers.

I grind my teeth.

Tonight is about business. No room for emotions, no room for mistakes.

We creep up to the back door, and I tap twice——silent, coded. A soft shuffle inside confirms what I already know.

He’s here.

The door creaks open.

Light spills through the gap, casting long shadows as I step in. The place reeks of weed, sweat, and pussy. So we mek gyal fuck dem and trick dem.

I crinkle my nose, my eyes fleeting past his figure to the 'Blues' still playing on the TV propped up on a dresser next to the dishevelled bed, before instantly going back to him.

The second he spots me, he steps backward, but I don’t hesitate——I shove the muzzle against his temple.

“Yuh time come eno, pussy!” I hiss, my voice cold. Deadly.

His eyes go wide, mouth parting in a silent plea. “Yo, Teflon——”

I squeeze.

No hesitation. No second chances.

The shot cracks through the stillness like a whip. His scrawny body jerks violently before collapsing to the floor. Blood splatters across the peeling wallpaper, marrow splash out pon grung, the smell of hot iron flooding my senses.

Kimbo chuckles lowly, wiping his knife against his jeans. “Yuh cold yuh fuck, dawg.”

“Not even have time fi draw fi mi tool good,” he adds.

I don't get time to respond—— Not that I had anything to say that we don't already know——before I pick up the sound of footsteps. Fast approaching. Coming from the front room.

Fuck.

“Move!” I bark, shoving Kimbo aside just as the door, separating them from us, bursts open. Another man, older, shirtless, wide-eyed, raising a gun.

Too slow.

I fire first, two quick shots to the chest. He stumbles back, gurgling, clutching his wounds before crumpling in a heap beside the door.

My breath is steady, my mind clear. Outside, a car engine roars to life——someone’s making a run for it.

A so much a di pussy dem did deh yah?

“Get di car ready,” I snap at Kimbo, already heading for the door. The adrenaline is coursing through my veins, prompting my feet to move faster.

I sprint outside, Glock raised, just in time to see a shadowy figure diving into a black Honda. Tires screech as the driver floors it. I don’t hesitate——I lift the gun and fire. Bullets shatter the rear windshield, the car swerving wildly before slamming into a light post.

“Come, come!” Kimbo yells, pulling up beside my feet in our ride. I jump in, slamming the door shut. The adrenaline is still pumping through my veins as we peel off, heading straight for the wreck.

We have to make it quick, because people are bound to start coming out at the sound of the explosions.

Just my luck, the driver stumbles out, bleeding, coughing. He reaches for something at his waist.

“Don’t even try,” I growl, stepping out, gun aimed steady, its chrome exterior glinting under the street light. “Mi done did tell yuh——neva did fi fuck up, doh.”

I pull the trigger.

A loud crack echoes through the night as the man drops. But then there's a shout from the alley, nestled between two houses; the one we just left and a next one.

“Pussyclaat, Teflon! Duck!”

I barely have time to react before bullets rip through the air, whizzing past my head. Kimbo fires back, his shots sparking against the metal dumpsters where a lone gunman is hiding.

“More man a come!” Kimbo shouts, yanking open the glove compartment and tossing me an extra clip.

I reload fast, my instincts razor-sharp. The alley is narrow, dark, perfect for an ambush. Another shot rings out, grazing my arm. Pain flares, but I grit my teeth, pushing forward.

“No way we leavin’ nuh bloodclaat loose ends,” I mutter, signaling Kimbo to flank the other side.

The tension is suffocating. I see as a shadow moves in the darkness, popping up from behind the bin——I fire. A grunt, then a body slumps against the wall. But it’s not over.

More footsteps.

Sirens wail in the distance. Time’s running out.

“Move, move!” I yell, adrenaline spiking as we sprint toward the getaway car ——a souped-up Probox we stole just to do the do.

Kimbo slides into the driver’s seat, tires screeching as he floors it. My heart pounds. Blood drips from my arm, staining my jeans. I glance in the side mirror; red and blue lights flashing in the distance.

See how fass di fucka dem reach ya, an' when innocent people a dead, dem tek dem own sweet time.

I grit my teeth, clenching my fist around my arm.

It's just a graze, for which I'm fucking glad, but it's still bleeding heavily.

I sigh and loll my head against the headrest, closing my eyes, as Kimbo floors the gas pedal, heading for the toll.

This job was supposed to be clean. But a so it go sometimes. As long as the work gets done.

°

°

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📍Bottom Lane, Warwick Avenue
Azar's Residence
7:45 A.M.

JODIE

I should’ve known today was going to be one of those days the moment my shoes bottom fell off, unprovoked, as soon as I reached my gate.

And not just any shoe——my favorite flat one with the little rhinestones that make me feel extra cute.

“Yuh see dem fuckry yah now?” I grumble, holding up the broken Payless shoes as I hop on one foot.

My neighbor, Miss Patsy, is already outside, sweeping her yard like she’s training for some Olympic cleaning event. But she and I know she's only out so early to fass in people's frigging business.

Like she's doing now. Watch har...

I watch her through my peripheral.

Why old people affi so fucking nosey?

She squints at me over her glasses.

“Jodie, awah? Yuh shoes leff yuh this morning?” She stops sweeping, tucking the broomstick under her arm, and walks over to the fence. “It pop off bad, or it just lift up?”

I don't respond.

But that doesn't sway her from continuing. “Just your bad luck eeh? Yuh probably put it dung too long, man, it mussi dry rot.”

I hiss my teeth. “Miss Patsy, please, not today.”

She simply laughs and goes back to sweeping, unbothered...because, of course, she’s not the one who now has to hop back inside to change shoes. At minutes to fucking eight.

Knowing how taxi hard fi get 'round yasso sometime.

I hiss my teeth.

Mi cyaa bother sometime eno!

Cho rassclaat, man...!

.                  .                   .

By the time I get to the taxi stand, I realize I left my lunch on the counter.

I could cry.

But you know what? I take it as a sign to treat myself. Maybe today is not a tragedy. Maybe it’s a self-care kind of day.

Yes, they offer free lunch at school, so it's not necessarily a big deal, but ano everything free good fi eat.

'Cause sometime mi affi wonder a wah that them share inna plate gi' people!

Dem fry chicken eva salt and don't get me started on the baked chicken.

Tuh.

I spot the red and yellow food truck on the corner, the one with the good pan chicken that always smells like heaven. A likkle yute linked up with his friend from my community and started the business about a month now. And from then, him nuh have hand fi sell people.

Guess this is a jerked chicken kinda morning yawh man.

Wonder if dem have noth'n ready?

I hurry across the road, already tasting the juicy, peppery goodness on my tongue. My mouth salivates. I've always wanted to try it, since I've only heard good things, but didn't get the chance to, for some reason.

You know the reason, miss. Yuh mean wid money.

My cheeks heat up at the thought. It's not necessarily a lie. I count every dollar unless ano my money a spend.

Sorry, can't help it. I'm just a girl...

Thankfully there isn't a line yet, just a woman and a man before me, guess I'm early, so I make it to the counter without hassle.

When the tall brown guy is through with their orders, he turns to me, smiling. He has really nice eyes. "Wah fi you this morning, beautiful?"

Yuh think mi beautiful too? Tunks. Mi think so too.

Biting down on my lower lip to quell the urge to giggle at the thought, I tuck my hair behind my ear and look up at the menu board.

Not much variety is there to choose from, so I quickly decide what I want.

But just as I’m about to order, I hear a voice behind me that makes my stomach drop.

“Jodie?”

Lawd, have mercy.

It’s Troy. I can tell without turning.

Why Troy a call out mi name so?

We a fren?

Troy, the "ex" I have successfully dodged for the past six months. Troy, the man who still owes me four thousand dollars and a serious explanation. Troy who clearly did think mi did ago yam fi him while him fuck dung di wul a Bottom and probably Top Lane? A cyaa that Troy.

And of all the days in the year, why the hell him affi show up today?

When mi day done a go bad already?

I turn around slowly, hoping maybe he’s talking to another Jodie. Maybe there’s another unfortunate soul in the area with my name and my bad luck.

But no, it’s me. And there he is, standing with his usual overconfidence and that stupid dimple that used to make me weak. Emphasis: Used to.

“Long time, stranger,” he says, flashing his best ‘I’m still fine, don’t you miss me?’ smile.

Troy is one of those guys, extremely good on the eyes, but the worst thing fi tek up inna yuh life. And I learnt my lesson the hard way.

Mi thank God every day say mi neva gi' him none a mi pussy still. The only thing he did, in the three likkle months we were talking, before I came to my senses and uprooted di yam vine, was finger me and suck mi pussy.

Fi a ghetto yute weh love act tough, the fucka can nyam a pussy! Him mussi did short a breast milk when him a baby or sum'n to rahtid. Lawd.

I roll my eyes. “Not long enough.”

He laughs, like I just gave him the funniest joke ever. “Nuh do mi dat, B.”

“Waa yuh problem, Troy!?” Because...what di fuck?

“A spot mi spot yuh and say mi a come gi' yawh hail. Just a pree say yuh still look good, yuh fuck. Like life 'gree wid yuh and t'ing.” He licks his lips, giving me a once over. “Mi glad fi see yuh same way, yuzeet.”

I give him a blank stare. “Mi wish mi could say di same.”

Then somebody please tell me why this man really has the audacity to look wounded? Like I’m the villain in this story who broke his fragile male ego.

“Come on, B, no need fi a move so cold. A juss wah day mi did a think 'bout yuh eno, and a say...jah jah.”

I scoff. “Yuh did a think 'bout who? Me? Eeeh? Jus' hope yuh did a think 'bout di four grand yuh still owe me too!”

Troy rubs the back of his head and chuckles as if he sees smiling printed anywhere on my frigging face, right now. “Mi soon sort dat out, man. Mi did——”

I don’t even let him finish. “Lemme guess. Yuh did deh pon a ‘likkle hustle’ and it never work out?”

He winces. Because of course, that was exactly what he was going to say.

It's practically his anthem.

I exhale, turning back to the food truck. “Troy, mi nuh have time fi dis. Mi hungry.” And late.

“So wah, mi cyaa buy yuh lunch?” he offers quickly, like he thinks offering to buy me lunch is some kind of magical peace offering.

I narrow my eyes. “With whose money?”

The cashier behind the counter snickers. Girl, yuh wouldn't even know how unfunny this is.

Troy grins sheepishly. “Yuh mouth still nuh have nuh filter, yute.”

“And you're still worthless. Guess we're even.”

At this point, I've had enough of Troy's bullshit, so I turn back to the browning who'd been pretending not to be eavesdropping on our conversation.

He smirks. “Yuh ready now?”

“Longtime...” I reach for my purse, trying my best to ignore Troy who's still behind me, breathing down my neck.

“Lemme have a leg quarter, wid nuff nuff pepper and three festivals, please. Oh...and a cold Bigga Ginger Beer.”

“Think a only D&G mi have inna dat eno...”

I make a face. “Ew, no. Yuh have big Sprite?”

“Think so.”

“Alright, gimme that then, please.”

“Ah.”

He parcels out the meat, chop it up, and place it in the foil in no time, pushing the condiments toward me so I can add to my liking.

“That's it, right?” He eyes me.

I nod.

“'Leven bills.”

I pull out two crisp one thousand dollar bills from my purse. But as soon as I step forward to hand it to him—boom!—out of nowhere, a bird decides to bless me right on my shoulder.

“Jesus Christ!” I shriek.

“Mi pussyclaat!” Troy bursts out laughing. And I could evaporate!

Pulling my collar toward me, I peer over my shoulder at the mess. I shudder. Yuck, yuck, yuck!

Di bird really leff all di way come shit pon mi!?

EMBARRASSING!

Miss Patsy’s words echo in my head.

Bad luck.

The sound of laughter behind me makes my blood curl.

I close my eyes and inhale deeply, reminding myself that violence is never the answer. But Lord, if bad luckied was a person, it would be me right now.

Troy tries to stifle his laugh. “Yo, Jah know, B...yuh good?”

Nuh chat to mi!

I shake my head, feeling my temper flare. “Troy, if yuh know wah good fi yuh right now, a better yuh gwaan 'bout yuh frigging business and lowe mi, yer!”

And doh piss mi off inna di morning ya!

Worse I've been in a sour mood since last night, after I stayed up almost all night waiting for a certain someone to call, and if a now mi phone fi ring.

Then I woke up late, because I barely got any sleep. Then mi shoes pop off. Then affi look inna your face. Now this fucking mawga bird leff all di way come shit pon mi?

No, man! Clearly di universe a try tell mi fi turn 'roun and go back a mi rass bed. Because why me one buck up inna three crawses already and day just light?

“So wait, a my fault?”

Before I can respond, Pretty Eyes firsts me saying, “Yo, jus' lowe her, bro.”

Troy frowns but holds his hands up surrender style, backing away, before leaving entirely.

I sigh. Thank God!

Mumbling below my breath, I reach for the pack of wipes in my bag and pull out a few sheets.

I continue to curse my bad luck as I wipe the bird splatter away.

Straighten my stance, I inhale deeply. Thank God it wasn't worse, 'cause mi woulda must mad out.

My eyes find Mr Pretty Eyes again, and I pout. He smiles. And I sigh, sliding the money toward him.

He shakes his head. “Nah, man. That good.”

I quirk a brow. “It's for the food.”

“Nuh worry yuhself, dat good.” He pauses then chuckles. “Consider it on the house. After all, a my bird violate yuh, yuzeet.”

Despite myself, I giggle, sliding the money back into my bag pocket and grabbing the ketchup bottle. “Oh, it's yours? So you're who I sue then?”

“Guilty as charged.”

I hum, but the smile on my face remains.

“Noted.”

After dousing the chicken with ketchup and pepper, I slide the bottles back to him.

My mood has lifted now that I'm focused on the food.

“Thanks.”

“Pleasure is mine.”

“What's your name?”

“Can call me Quan.” He leans over, resting his elbows on the counter, as he peers down at me. “Yours?”

Sash.

I smirk. “Will tell yuh the next time mi see yuh.”

The girl behind him laughs out. Guess ano him woman den since she finds our exchange funny.

“Jah know? It's like that?”

I hum.

Before he can say anything else, I walk away, spotting Job's taxi approaching the bus stop.

I hurry towards it.

Thank God, 'cause mi late bad!