“When the roll is called up yonder....” Reverend Stanford’s deep voice broke out in a new song, and some of the mourners joined in.
Reverend Stanford was surprised but pleased when Suave had asked if he could preside over Cobra’s funeral. He readily agreed and held the funeral service in his small church that was packed to capacity earlier that afternoon.
With the choir’s soulful singing many heartfelt eulogies, worshipful praises, and Reverend Stanford giving the Word, Cobra’s homecoming service was beautiful but tearful. Suave, flanked by Monica and all his children, sat motionless in the front row, his lips folded tight, trying to prevent the dam from bursting.
After the service, the big white hearse escorted by two police officers, followed by dozens of cars, drove down Spanish Town Road to the burial plot at Dovecot Memorial Park.
Security was tight. Suave hired extra men to keep watch just in case King Kong and his men decided to interrupt the funeral—or even worse. But so far, so good.
“It was a good turnout for my son.” Prophet’s voice interrupted Suave’s thoughts. “Thank you for taking care of everything.”
“No need to thank me. Cobra was my brother from another mother,” Suave said softly. “A part of me is in that grave.” He pointed to the casket that was being covered by dirt by the graveside workers.
“My people and I are going to roll out now.”
Suave followed Prophet’s gaze to where a group of silent Rastafarians stood at the back of the funeral crowd, dressed in their red, green, and gold. The men had not said a word since they had arrived at the church where they stayed outside.
“Okay, Prophet.” Suave shook his right hand. “I’ll come and check you soon so we can talk.”
“I’m done talking,” Prophet mumbled before turning abruptly on his feet and walked away toward his entourage. As silently as they came, the Rastafarians left.
Suave looked after Prophet with a perplexed look on his face. I wonder what he meant by that? I hope he doesn’t try to take on King Kong, Danny, and crazy Saddam by himself.
After the burial, Suave’s men and many of the funeral attendants went back to Suave’s bar in Rema. Suave ordered the bar open to everyone, and liquor was flowing like Dunn’s River Falls. Under the haze of the marijuana spliffs, the crowd that was mourning earlier was now laughing and chatting, enjoying the free liquor and the free food of jerk and fried chicken, rice and peas, and mannish water that was being catered at Suave’s expense. It was a celebration of Cobra’s life.
While across town in his hideaway house, Suave curled up alone on his couch, still wearing his stiff white shirt, black pants, and black socks. He was feeling extremely wiped out after burying Cobra. After dropping off his children and Monica following the funeral, Suave needed to be alone, so he escaped to his hut. It was here that the pain of losing his parents resurrected, along with the agony of losing his best friend, hammered away at his heart.
“I’m so sorry, Cobra,” Suave sobbed. “I’m so sorry, man.” He cried until there were no more tears. It wasn’t long before exhaustion snatched him away into a hellish nightmare.
“One down, and you to go,” Pastor Ralph mocked Suave. “That should have been you, but you are next.” He was laughing like a jackass with tears running down his ugly face as he enjoyed Suave’s pain.
“Leave my baby alone.” Pat pouted his thick, red lips as he came to stand beside Pastor Ralph, his right hand resting on his narrow hip. “I don’t want you to die, Suave. I just want you to live with me . . . in hell!”
The two men hooted with laughter, high fiving each other in victory.
“In fact, I want you to come with me now,” Pat said after the laughter died down, moving closer to Suave.
“Stay away from me, you freak.” Suave stepped back but stopped short by the wall behind him.
“Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.” Pastor Ralph also edged closer.
Fists folded, his heart pounding away in his chest, Suave glanced back and forth between the ghosts that were always haunting him. “I said, get back.” Both Pastor Ralph and Pat reached for him, a menacing look on their faces. “No no no!” he screamed, kicking and punching in his sleep.
Suave fell off the couch onto the floor with a loud thud, still struggling against the invisible forces attacking him.
He took deep breaths as he scanned the room, realizing he was alone. There was no Pastor Ralph or Pat. A surge of anger overtook him. He jumped to his feet, marched over to the coffee table, grabbed his keys and cell phone, then strode out toward the garage. His shoes were at the top of the stairs where he had left them, and he slipped his feet into them.
As Suave backed his truck out of the garage on to the street, he reached for the cell phone on the seat beside him, but pulled back his hand, deciding against it. Suave, with a hard look plastered across his face, kept a heavy foot on the gas as the truck ate up the road all the way to Havendale. He parked two blocks away from Pat’s house.
“I can’t have any peace in my life, right?” Suave mumbled some curse words as he made his way toward Pat’s house with his head hanging low, a baseball cap now covering most of his face. “I’m so tired of this crap.” He walked through the gate and up to the veranda, but voices coming from inside the house halted his steps. His eyes grew big in fright. No one can see me here!
On tiptoes, Suave hurried off the veranda so he could make a hasty retreat. The front door popped open, and he dived into the thick shrubs by the gate.
“I’m glad we
