Ruin

72

LUCAS P. O. V.
---------------------------------
Saturday: 8:55 P. M.
---------------------------------

"So how your thing did work out the other day?" I ask Deacon.

We're all seated around the six-seater trestle table underneath the big mango tree in his yard: him, Jimmy Neutron, Syd, Apache, Shotty, and me.

My eyes fleet over to Shotty, who's busy rolling a spliff and bopping his head to the beat of the music playing a few feet away from where we're sitting.

Syd is watching his hand movements intently, with an amused smile on his lips.

These men are always something to be around.

Each unique in his own way: from his appearance to his name.

Deacon, we all already know.

Syd is short for his birth name Sydney. Nothing special. Except his looks, which they say has an uncanny resemblance to Syd the Slot from Ice Age.

People a real fuckry eno, dawg.

Apache got is name from him cutting his hair in his signature mohawk hairstyle with a single patch dyed in red.

Shotty, whose given name is Kirk, has quick fingers and is trigger-happy.

While Jimmy Neutron got his name because him head big nuh fuck.

I chuckle under my breath.

He lights up a blunt, takes a long drag and puffs the smoke through his nose.

When his eyes meet mine, he gestures towards the stash on the table.

Holding my hand up, I say, "Yuh know mi nuh fuck 'round dem thing deh."

I've never been a smoker. And, I don't plan to start now...

Worse when mi see how weed a mad off the likkle yute dem.

With a curt nod, Deacon brings the blunt back to his lips and takes another long drag, before saying, "Yeah, man. That thing deh good. It set in motion, man. The catty a the agency a sort it out fimi."

"That's good," I say and sigh. I can feel an headache coming on.

And the liquor drinking isn't helping.

"It's a start," he agrees. "Now the likkle pussy dem nuh have nothing fi chat 'bout, don't?"

There seems to be an informant in his camp.

A rat with a tattletale who has a vendetta against him.

It's through that rat, as a source, that the JCF has been scoping him out, as of late.

Worse, it seems like those exact JCF goons are eating out of the hand middle of an upper echelon who has eyes on a project site Deacon is also interested in.

So they're micro-analysing his every move.

From his lifestyle to his businesses.

Thus, he's seeking legitimate ways to wash his money. The main route being kickstarting his restaurant business; The second to the chain.

He has to be watching his back and play his cards well, more so now than ever.

It is for that reason why I'd suggested he go about it through the books, under the guise of a loan, thus leaving a paper trail behind.

While that's being processed, I gave him a fraction of the funding as a "loan" to get the ball rolling.

"Fi now," I say. "But yuh need fi look inna your camp and source out who a oppose yuh, before yuh end up like how Spengga do yuh father."