In a Cold Sweat (13 page)

As he began to feel better and his mind got clearer, Jamaica began moving around, seeing how things worked on the island. Shootin’ craps was big on the island, but the locals couldn’t gamble in the casinos. It didn’t take him long to take over those independent games and set up new ones. Once that was organized and running smooth, I had Jamaica turn his attention to extortion. He began shaking down anybody who made money on the tourist industry. From tour operators, to bus and cab companies. From the guys who took tourists out on their boats on fishing trips, to the port
merchants.
If you made money, we made money.

When we got to my house, there were another two of Jamaica’s men waiting for us. He always rotated two men to look out for my mother so one of them would be with her at all times. My mother doesn’t like having them around. She doesn’t allow them in the house and only acknowledges their presence when she needs them, but she’d gotten used to it. Since there were two of them there, I could only assume he had already stepped up security. Under the circumstances I couldn’t argue with his logic.

I had been there for a couple of days, enjoying my mother and watching her enjoy Michelle. The first day was a little rough startin’ out for the girls. M had only seen Michelle twice before that. The first time was just after she was born and again after Cassandra died. And with Michelle not likin’ women, she screamed bloody murder every time M tried to pick her up. “What is wrong with this child, Michael?” M had asked that first day.

“She doesn’t like women. She barely tolerates Pam holding her.”

“I can barely tolerate Pam,” M said and tried to walk Michelle to quiet her. “I don’t like her. I thought she was just ignorant, now to find out that she’s crazy too.” M gave me that look that I hated to see when I was a kid. “And this is the woman you got raising my grandbaby? I just don’t understand you sometimes, Michael,” she yelled over Michelle’s screaming. I stood up and took Michelle from her. She got very quiet and M rolled her eyes at me.

“That baby needs a home, Michael.”

“She has a home.”

“Really, where?”

“We live at Bobby’s house,” I said, even though I knew what she meant. We have had this conversation before, and it always goes the same way.

“Don’t get smart with me, Michael. You need a home of your own. It’s time for you to stop hiding out at Bobby’s house and move on with your life. I’m sure Cassandra wouldn’t want this life for you and this precious baby,” M said and took Michelle from my arms.

She immediately went into her act. M gave Michelle the look. “You listen to me, young lady. I am your grandmother and I will not have you crying your head off every time I touch you. Do you understand me, young lady? You are not wet, your daddy just fed you,
so
I know you’re not hungry. Now you are gonna stop all this foolishness. You hear me?” M had told her granddaughter in the way Cassandra used to and Michelle slowly calmed down. Since that moment, M and Michelle have been all right with each other.

M had just put Michelle down for a nap and came and sat down next to me. She took my hand in hers and squeezed it. “What you thinkin’ about?” I asked.

“Just thinking about the first day you brought Cassandra to my house.”

“What made you think about that?”
 

“That little angel in there. She favors her mother.”

“I know.”

“Do you remember that day, Michael?”

“Of course I do.” Cassandra had been shot and since M was a registered nurse, I brought her to M’s house to recover.

“I would just hate for the same thing to happen to her one day.”

“That’s not gonna happen, Ma. I won’t let it happen,” I promised.

“How can you say that, Michael? There are three men outside with machine guns. I’m not stupid. I know there’s something going on and you're in some type of danger. And as long as you have this baby around you, she’s in danger too.”

“I know, Ma.
That’s why I’m gonna leave
her here with you,” I announced to her so we could end the lecture, or at least shorten it. But it didn’t.

“That’s good to know. I’m glad you came to your senses. New York is no place to raise a child. Look at what your life has cost the two of you. She’s already lost her mother, and if you keep livin’ that life, sooner or later death is gonna come for you too. Now I understand that somebody senselessly murdered your wife and I know being the kind of man you are that you need answers. I understand that.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you understand that all of them are gonna die.”

M gave me the look. “Anyway, all I’m askin’ is that once it’s over, that you think about that child and put that life behind you.”

“Don’t you think I think about that all the time? I know I gotta keep Michelle away from all that.”

“I’m talking about you too, Michael. This family has lost too much because of it.”

“I know, Ma.”

“So who is she?” M asked.

“Who’s who?”

“The shake dancer.”

“What?”

“Wanda says she heard you picked up with some shake dancer.”

“Wanda said that?”

“Not in so many words.”

“What words did she use?”

“I asked her had you started seeing anybody yet, and Wanda said ‘you know how your son is and how his taste in women runs.’ ”

“She said that?”

I got the look again. “Well, I know how your taste runs and—” M started when we heard a horn honking. That meant there was a car approaching. I got up and walked over to the window and saw that Jamaica was coming up the walkway toward the house. He had been trying to get me to hang out with him and check out his operation, but I hadn’t been feelin’ it. I was happy doin’ what I was doin’. But since I wasn’t about to have a conversation about Mystique with my mother, his timing couldn’t have been any better.

We spent the day going around to all the spots he ran on the island and stopped by one of the fishing boat operators, who took us out on the water for a while. I love the water. It’s one of the things I miss most about living in the Bahamas. When I get to New York, it’s like I forget the water exists.

It was after sunset when the boat returned to Port Lucaya to dock, and I was ready to go home. But Jamaica had other ideas for my evening. “You must stay and take in the show tonight,” Jamaica told me.

At The Port Lucaya Marketplace there are stores, boutiques, restaurants, outdoor and indoor bars and cafes. On Friday night, at Port Lucaya, they have a native Bahamian cultural show with fire dancing, limbo and a stage show with the Port Lucaya dancers in the Count Basie Square.

I had seen the show many times before when I lived down there, so I wasn’t all that hyped about seeing it again, but he insisted. “Besides,
me
want you to see the new girl that star in the show. Her really make a difference,” Jamaica promised.

I was watching the limbo show and the Great ‘King Barry’ was working the crowd when I first caught a glimpse of her. “That her?” I asked Jamaica.

“Yah,
mon
, that her.”

“What’s her name?”

“Jacara Delbridge.”

“She’s very pretty.” That was an understatement. She was beautiful. So beautiful that I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

“Yah,
mon
, that her.”

The show was great. Not only was Jacara fine as hell, but she could sing and dance her ass off. After the show was over, and the crowd of tourist had thinned, I was sipping over priced Remy at one of the outdoor bars when Jamaica came up behind me. “Mike Black,” he said and I turned around. “This is Jacara Delbridge.”

She was even more beautiful up close. I held out my hand and she accepted it. I felt her warmth. “Pronounce your name.”

“Jacara Delbridge,” she said slowly.

“It sounds better when you say it,” I said, bowing slightly, and taking her hand to my lips. “I enjoyed your show.”

“Thank you, I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Jacara said.

The three of us stood there at the bar and made small talk for a while after that. Jacara told me that she used to be a showgirl in Vegas and concluded that she would never be the headliner so she decided to move on. She had come to the Bahamas for Junkanoo, a national festival in The Bahamas, and a short vacation eight months ago and decided to stay when the opportunity to be a part of the show presented itself.

 
Junkanoo groups "rush" from midnight until shortly after dawn, to the music of cowbells, in costumes made from cardboard covered in tiny shreds of colorful crepe paper competing for cash prizes. Some say the word Junkanoo comes from John Canoe, the name of an African tribal chief who demanded the right to celebrate with his people even after being brought to the West Indies in slavery.

After a while, Jamaica faded into the background and disappeared. By that time, we were on our third round and the conversation had gotten comfortable.

“Can I ask you a question?” Jacara asked.

“Go ahead.”

“Who are you?” she asked with a smile I was starting to like.

I turned and looked into her eyes. I liked those too. It’s one of my weaknesses. Cassandra had the most expressive eyes. I used to tell her that they were like windows to her mind. “I’m Mike Black.”

“I know your name,” Jacara said and took a playful swing at me. “I wanna know who you are.”

“What do you mean?” Jacara had me smiling.

“All night I’ve seen people who don’t get in a hurry for anything, suddenly rushing around here. They're all nervous and intense. And then you appear, and they all but bow down to you,” Jacara said and took a bow.
“So again I ask, who are you?”

Now she had me laughing. “I’m Mike Black. I’m an old friend of Jamaica’s.”

“Hmm, that says a lot right there.”

“I’m not even gonna ask what you mean by that.”

“Of course not, if you did the conversation would continue and you might have to answer my questions. But it’s okay. I don’t like answering questions either.”

“I’ll remember not to ask any,” I said and drained my glass. “I enjoyed what conversation we did have.” I held out my hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Jacara.”

“The pleasure was all
mine
,” Jacara said and politely shook my hand. “I enjoyed our conversation as well, Mr. Black. How much longer will you be on the island?”

“Another day, maybe two.” I started walking and she looped her arm in mine.

“Maybe we can get together before you go. Say for lunch tomorrow?”

I stopped under a lamppost and looked at Jacara. “Where?” Something about the way she looked standing under that light moved me in ways that only Cassandra had.

“Do you know where The Paradise is?”

“I can find it.” Especially since I own it. It’s a club I own on the beach. The name is actually Black’s Paradise, but nobody ever calls it that. I was planning on going there to check things out anyway.

“Meet me there at one.”

“I’ll be there. Good night, Jacara,” I said and left her standing there. When three of Jamaica’s men had to hurry to catch up with me, I heard her say, “Who are you, Mike Black?”

It was after midnight and Wanda sat on the couch in Nick’s office at Impressions, as she had about every night since her and Nick got together. She had gotten up at seven thirty that morning to make a meeting with a client at ten. It was the start of a very long day; especially since it was four thirty when she and Nick got home from the club. By the time they finished doing what they do and had drifted off to sleep, it was after six.