Jazzie 6

Dangerous Cleverness

The dive shop on Dockyard Drive is silent, nicely stepped away from the road, as if it is undecided whether it wants to be on the shore or on the road. The evening traffic flows away from Chandler’s Caribbean Cafe across from Antigua Yacht Club and Marina. John reaches into his bag and pulls out the new black shirt. The color makes him feel like Black Panther, but this is a Jazzie-Ninja moment. T’Challa would not do this. Then again, T’Challa is a prince of Wakanda and John is not, That’s the way things are. We all have business to take care of.

Now he is Black-Black Jazzie, phone ready in his hand as if it was Tony Starks’ palm repulsor drawing power directly from John's Arc-Reactor-Heart. Only; the phone’s weak energy cannot create a powerful blast to use against his enemies, and the adrenaline-beat of his young heart betrays John’s fright and lingering disappointment.

It hurts a bit. Jeremy and Theo not taking him with them. From where he stands waiting for Tayo, he imagines he can see the boat that swallowed his older friends. The yachts are so big out there on the water, so full of light; so uninterested in an eleven-year-old boy. It is not so late that parties have died down. Small tenders still run across the water, carrying people from one place to another. Somewhere, beyond the boats John sees, is the big power boat where Jeremy and Theo party. Tayo is out there too.

John went with Jeremy to listen to Theo sing at a fancy restaurant on Dockyard Drive. Chandler’s Caribbean Cafe terraces up the slope beneath linked covered seating areas. It is whitewashed, fresh and brightly lit. John had never eaten in a place like that. He followed Jeremy to the bar and drank a soda and ate a snack while Theo sang and entertained in the dress John saw hanging on the door. It was John and his young American, just friends together, exchanging jokes.

Jeremy and Theo were invited to join a table after that. John lied and said that this abandonment was okay. He had his bus to catch back to St. John’s. It was stupid, because he knew he was just a kid and the two teenagers were big, and the adults did not want him hanging around. He bumped fists with Jeremy and let Theo hug him goodbye. All John wanted was to go back to Fourteen Gates with them, and that was stupid too because Jazzie had plans down the street at the dive shop.

His part was to scout the dive shop, then give Tayo the signal on the beach, but John lingered by the restaurant till his friends came out, and then followed Jeremy and Theo through Antigua Yacht Club and Marina’s polished entrance. They took a fancy tender out to an anchored yacht. The powerboat they boarded was so big, it reminded John of an island ferry. John watched the yacht’s golden windows for a while, then turned away. The envy and abandonment kept John's mind off what he had to do at the dive shop.

John knows the dive shop is a bit of dangerous cleverness. John’s first choice is his worst choice. This is not their first victim along Dock Yard Drive, but the other one was a rental like Fourteen Gates; a place where strangers come and go unnoticed. The dive shop is their first business. It is too insane, but the cash box in the drinks cooler preys on John’s mind.

John’s head turns toward every outboard motor. It is too clever to steal a boat and cross the harbor like someone returning from a party. Stealing a boat is one more step that can trip them up. At least the Black Hoods settled on the best time to BnE. Pudgee Funk argued for a smash and grab while the harbor slept. Tayo said it would be better in the evening, when he could blend in on the water.

“I’ll text you when we get across,” Tayo told John.

“You ever hear of digital footprints?” John snorts exasperation. “I will be by the water with my phone light, then I will be gone before you do your criminal business.”

John fingers his phone nervously. He checks the clock. Tayo is past the time he promised to arrive. John considers leaving. He is half relieved. He still has money in his pocket. These break and enters for Pudgee Funk and Tayo, they are dangerous for Black-Jazzie. John waits.

Over at the road, Tayo backs the Suzuki Mini Truck he boosted as close as he can get to the covered seating area attached to the dive shop. The job started poorly. They had not thought about the kill switch on the outboard motor. The little boat was useless to them. The owners took the outboard motor’s kill switch with them when they left the Zodiac on the beach. This makes Tayo look like a fool in front of his two boys. They have no choice but to drive around to the dive shop in the stolen truck.

The door lock resists the pry bar. Tayo takes his frustrations out on the door jam while his boys walk around the building looking for another way in. The splintering wood is going to alert someone. Dray thinks that they should leave. Tayo grabs Dray’s shirt and muscles him into the closed door, as if his chubby body will break it down. “We do this!” Tayo hisses. When the door finally gives way, Tayo pushes his boys in. Can’t build a gang with these lagga-head saps. Tayo wishes he had brought Trini.

Tayo has this worked out. He will point at something and the boys will carry it to the Suzuki as quickly as they can. Jazzie should be here to watch the road. Dray is thirteen and the other boy is only twelve. They struggle with the bulky tanks. “Take that, take that,” Tayo points. They cannot take everything; Tayo is not even certain what will sell. As the boys move back and forth, Tayo searches for money he can pocket.

“Ah wah you doing there?” Tayo snarls at Dray. Dray has opened the cooler. “We didn’t come here so you can drink a Pepsi Cola!” The foolish boy shrugs, then grabs a can of beer and tosses it to Tayo. The boy returns to rummage for two more, so Tayo throws the can at the boy’s back. Dray yelps. “Take those masks and stay in the truck.”

Tayo does not know how much this haul will bring them. It could be hundreds, maybe thousands. On this island, there will be an eager market for diving equipment. Someone will be willing to not ask questions. Tayo notices the card reader on the counter, Damn useless plastic money. Tourists use plastic too much. Time to go, Tayo decides. Tayo wonders what happened to his eyes and ears. Jazzie scored a big one this time.

John pisses himself a little when he hears the shop door being forced. His eyes search for Tayo on the water one last time, then he sidles back to the dive shop like a Ninja. Safe in the shadows, he waits like he did at the first job he set up for Tayo. John counts the precious minutes passing by. The three Black Hoods in the dive shop are not particularly Ninja about their criminal business. “Shut up, shut up,” John whispers. The Galaxy buzzes in his pocket, startling John. His mistake rattles him. He forgot to turn it off. He pulls the phone out, cursing Tayo for trying to contact him.

With Tayo across the island, it seemed a good time for Trini to do some Wadadli business his mother had set up. John will meet Trini in Gray’s Farm, not at East Town Roti. The boys have their secret code. John turns his phone off. Helping Trini with his private business is safer than skulking here in Falmouth Harbour waiting for Babylon to nick them all. John is relieved when the truck finally pulls away.

Tayo found the hidden money, or he didn’t. It is worth a look. If someone comes along, John can play little-boy-no-see-um. Just a curious boy on his way home. It is a cautious approach. Now he is T’Challa, dressed in black. He is the panther. John could piss his pants.

He has this all worked out. In his head, he has rehearsed his entry into the dive shop. Inside the open door, he reaches for the paper napkins he knows are on the counter. The cooler is open. Tayo took the money, John’s heart sinks. With paper wadded in one hand, John pushes past the disturbed drinks. The cash box is still exactly where the bearded man stashed it last time. He pulls it free. Jazzie saunters way into the shadows with his prize.

The dive shop float is not a fortune, but it is more than the tourist men pay Trini for an hour. It is a fortune compared to what the fourteen-year-old earned tonight sexing some local man. John has no time to count it. The bills and coins (so much American!) get dumped into his new (black) fanny pack. The boy walks further with the incriminating cash box. Some rocks from the shore for weight, a dip in the harbor water so the box won’t float, then John flings it toward the bright lights scattered across Falmouth Harbour. Black-Jazzie puts his Spiderman disguise back on. Now he is no-see-um, Peter Parker walking the back streets.

John promised Jeremy (and his mother) he would take the bus, so he is not supposed to be here still. John should not go back to Gravity. Sleeping securely between the teenage boys in Jeremy’s soft bed would be so good right now. He has to be away from Dockyard Drive and then there is the problem of John Carter at a lonely bus stop down the road from the break in. He must be invisible through the night.

While they listened to Theo sing, Jeremy mentioned that he fixes boats in the morning. John’s teenagers might go home early. They might be at Fourteen Gates right now. John can say he missed his bus. He won’t be alone tonight. John’s feet take him where he wants to go.

Taking Another Piss

Tayo pays $3.75 to catch a bus at the West Terminal in St. John’s. It follows All Saints Road, through the villages of Belmont, Clarke's Hill, All Saints, Liberta, Falmouth, Cobbs Cross, then finally pauses in English Harbour Town. Crowded Antigua is swept by, and Tayo thinks of Jazzie taking this tedious journey every day to sit in tedious school. Little wonder Jazzie spends his nights in Cobbs Cross. The young man does not speculate on how the boy does this. The young man knows how it is done. Tayo’s mother brought her men home as long as he can remember. Little Tayo was already couch surfing around Gray’s Farm by the time he was nine. By the time Tayo was Trini’s age, he did not care that he had no home. Nelson Bird’s couch was one place he could go.

Tayo steps off beside the playing field, where Dockyard Drive turns right and passes by the dive shop he just robbed. Dogs going back to their vomit, Tayo is not that stupid. Curiosity overwhelms him, but no, he is not stupid. The walk to Fourteen Gates is only twenty minutes along a road that leads to the interpretive center and Shirley Heights Lookout.

The American boy ghosts Tayo. Apparently Jeremy meant it when he said, I’ll call you. The sexy boy’s business card advertises boat charters along with a home address at this Fourteen Gates place. Tayo wonders if Jeremy has been away on the sailboat. He would like to think that is the reason the young American ignores him. Jeremy is a schoolboy, surely. He was partying on the beach with other schoolboys. He brags like a schoolboy, Tayo suspects he is a convincing liar, like Tayo, or little Jazzie. The business card might even belong to the teenager’s father. Tap lies to do your business, this is another reason to like the young American.

The apartment units are not so different from a couple of hundred more springing up about the island. In the light of day, the place looks pedestrian. Half finished, like so many construction projects on the island. No need to hurry; add a bit when you have money in your pocket, do something else until you do.

Tayo ambles along the road until he reaches the polished wood sign carved with Fourteen Gates Apartments. This spot is where they paused to consider scouting the possibilities. The building’s walls are natural stone and old brick. This is English Harbour and these walls remind Tayo of history times. Stuccoed walls divide the front of the building into private patios.

Tayo walks the length of the building fronting the road. Beyond the first elaborate wrought iron gate he sees there are pavers set in gravel leading to a deep blue door. The lock and door frame look more stubborn than the dive shop he just burgled. The patio walls offer no security from the street. The heavy iron gate does not even have a lock. Tayo does not see the security cameras Jazzie threatened. Tayo glances at the expensive gate. Number nine, with a sea turtle. Ten, eleven, twelve, each with a different Caribbean creature. Some patios have flowers planted, others neglected-bare. All of them have expansive, secure windows and identical blue doors.

Around the front of the building there is another smaller wooden sign saying Fourteen Gates – Office. Tayo knows better than to be recognized in a place he might return to tax, that is why they have Jazzie, but he is searching for the young American. An older woman is arguing with a man. Tayo finally sees evidence of the security Jazzie spoke of. A flat screen TV splits images of cameras everywhere.

The argument breaks off and the man turns to Tayo. “You come about the construction job?”

“I’ve no interest in your work, old man. I’m just stopping to find a friend.” Tayo snaps back.

The pair return to arguing about construction noise and keeping the inner courtyard clean for angry residents. “We start at 8:00 and there is nothing I can do about the noise,” the man is not intimidated by the big woman.

“Listen to me now,” Tayo interrupts impatiently. It takes the pair a moment to wind down. “Just point me to a yute, Jeremy. Which one of these is his? Does the boy even live in this place?”

“Here is a rude boy,” the man observes to his companion. “I have no jobs for you!”

“I have work of my own,” Tayo bites back. “Is this boy Jeremy here or not?”

“Young Bass is in number five. Now, go away!” The man dismisses Tayo. He turns back to the woman, “I have to start at 8:00 and we end at 5:00, so your people will get their beauty sleep. If they have employment, then what does it matter if my boys and I make a clatter?”

Tayo does not hear the rest. He rounds the corner to where the pathway splits, one part following the outside of the building, and the other leading into a central courtyard. The large courtyard is scraped down to the dirt, and cluttered with piles of stone, brick, bags of cement and mounds of sand and gravel. Clearly construction is ongoing, and Tayo thinks the woman will lose this fight.

Four buildings form the rectangle that is already planted with young trees threatened by the construction piles. Every corner provides access to this courtyard. Each apartment has a second tall bank of windows on the courtyard side, and a door onto the courtyard. If Tayo wants to take this place, it must be done from the perimeter patio doors. A day job when everyone is working. Jazzie was probably right about that strategy. Some places are not worth the risk, Tayo decides. Fourteen Gates is a construction site with men about all day. Jazzie has found Pudgee Funk easier targets.

Tayo walks along the western block because the first unit is number one, two, three…. The rooms are empty and useless to him. The courtyard-side windows are new, but the studio rooms behind are disappointingly old. Number Five is on the next corner. Cheap curtains behind the wonderful expanse of new glass obscure the interior.

Jeremy eyes the distressing pile on the table. Theo’s absolutely necessary clothes are split in three soft travel bags that Jeremy hopes will find a home behind the cushions of his pilot berth bench. Everything on the table has already been stowed in a Chinese-puzzle-cleverness in Jeremy’s mind. Persuasive boyfriend, Theo has seduced closet space for his extra dresses in a friend’s apartment. The rest of Theo’s things (Just need two throw pillows, honey!) are on their way back to Swetes, where Theo keeps a room at his aunt Veronica’s place.

Jeremy is content to move back onto Gravity. Small as the old Dufour 29 is, it is all he needs. Unit number 5, Da Nang, is going to be unrecognizable when the work is finished. This has been Jeremy’s first place on the Hard. This is where his friends came. This is where the memories of making love to his first (real) boyfriend will linger till he is an old man. This will be Jeremy’s nostalgic Da Nang, untainted by that first Da Nang’s tragedy.

Jeremy sighs as he casts around the old space. Theo is blatantly delighted with this move. The partners will have the use of currently renovated Units 13 and 14, along the office block, at least when they are free. With so much construction to discourage off-season booking, Theo should enjoy weeks of luxury. The high-end units will not be Da Nang, and neither will be completely theirs.

Jeremy assumes the knocking at the door is Clarence Williams, the contractor Fourteen Gates Property Managers use for the rough work. Jeremy and Theo will work with Clarence and his two sons. It is a surprise to see the young man from St. John’s. Tayo is wearing a tight white singlet hugging the hips of his mint green slacks. The legs are rolled up his calves as if he is ready to walk the beach. Tayo looks very Caribbean with his cornrows and dark glasses. Light of day, Jeremy thinks the tattooed teenager is very  God-Damn-Sexy-Biker or Coyote-Cowboy mouthful. This moment’s lustful thought should be a jackrabbit caution, but Jeremy is a confident prowling (sexy) bobcat these days.

“I thought it was time to see what you were up to,” Tayo smiles behind his shades. Don’t call me, I’ll call you, is not working, his voice conveys. Light of day, Tayo thinks the tawny teenager is a rhygin beach bitch. The young American leaves him raw. There is an inviting bed beyond the boy’s shoulder. Tayo wants them in it, dog-on-bitch.

“I’ve been busy, but I didn’t forget.” This answer has a tangerine tang that promises to quench Tayo’s thirst. “I am still busy, but come in.” Jeremy lets the man brush past him.

Tayo can out-Pudgee, his best friend, with dreams of owning sell-off villas when they run St. John’s streets together. There will be jewel-navelled bitches in thongs about their pool. Young men dream. Truth is, Tayo would kill to have a place as modest as this: kitchen, private loo. Tayo fucks women; not enough to be Mr. Mention with the neighborhood ladies (like Thomas Carter), but nobody calls Tayo mamma man. He has to stick to women, even if an addled batty-boy like Trini wants his cock. With a cross-island place like this, a man could have a man in privacy.

Jeremy has picks up an empty bin. “You, still moving in?” Tayo asks about the things on the table.

“Moving out,” Jeremy replies. “It is getting renovated this summer.”

“Your daddy own this place?”

“No,” Tayo is still just a man on the beach; a flirtation in St. John’s. Jeremy is cock-curious, but he is always shy about the mind-tangle that is Fourteen Gates; he keeps its details for trusted friends.

“Isn’t that the way,” Tayo sympathizes. “The rich folk buy our land, build fancy tourist spots, and we’ve got no place to shift to. I’ve got a room on St. Mary’s. You’re welcome to surf by.”

“I’m moving back onto the boat. It’s all good.” Jeremy puts the empty bin down. This unsettling move, the pressure to work on the renovations, and knowing in a couple of hours he has to go cook frustrates Jeremy. He does not even have the luxury of some adolescent griping at his parents. “I need to clear my head. Do you want to take a walk down to the beach?”

“I like to exercise myself,” Tayo proves the point and closes in on Jeremy. “You like to exercise on beaches, don’t you?” Tayo cups the youth’s head and suggests a downward pressure Jeremy resists. Tayo runs his hand down the T-shirt chest. Jeremy gives him a cat-like stare in return. It is the sort of narrowing of the eyes that might initiate a purr, or proceed a scratch. “We can throw some sand on your bed.”

The times Jeremy has been lubricated by sand, hard to count that without some time for nostalgic recollecting. Beaches and boats, there is always salt, and sand to rub it in. “Hard enough to keep the sheets clean,” Jeremy observes. Tayo’s laughing response is unshackled. “Sorry, you caught me at a bad time. Let’s take a walk.”

The apartment quad is a middle class niche. It is not beachfront, or view-worthy. It is yards from the oily-industrial Antigua Slipway and Marina and a band of mangrove denies the harbor. There is not even a quick path to English Harbour Town’s services and entertainment. Jeremy takes Tayo along the curving lane that borders The Inn at English Harbour. The lane they walk passes under trees then drops down to the resort’s private beach. The Inn is Five-Star. “It’s nice to have a pool,” Tayo shares.

“The property manager at Fourteen Gates is working on some package deals. Stuff like access to this resort’s amenities, discounts at the nearby restaurants, and the bike rental service just over there at the Slipway. You know, everyone lifts business for everyone. My boat does day trips for the guests at Fourteen Gates.”

“You work on charters.”

“I run charters,” Jeremy emphasizes.

They leave the resort behind and cut over to the idyllic crescent of Galleon Beach. A road with dispersed shops and bungalows follows the beach. New builds with expansive balconies rise halfway up to Shirley Heights. It is hard to see these through the palms and heavy crowns of trees. Instead, the eye is drawn to the stretch of pale sand, shading palms, and the dozens of sailboats hanging on the transparent water of Freeman’s Bay. Tayo looks across to the finger of Fort Berkeley.

“I cook, I repair boats, I charter, what do you do, Tayo?”

“How old are you?” Tayo wonders.

“Old enough,” Jeremy grins. “I take care of myself.”

Tayo settles on, “I am into moving things.” Since dropping out of school at thirteen, Tayo has not kept a job. He tried construction once. He and the foreman did not get along. “I would like to be a DJ.” Tayo would like to be a rapper, but what young man does not want that. “Are you a good cook?”

Further down the public beach is another resort marked by sturdy wooden umbrellas and white deck chairs. Jeremy stops midway. There is a short pier that points directly out the entrance to the harbour. Jeremy leads Tayo down to the sluggish surf. He pulls his shirt off and wraps his phone and keys. Without waiting for Tayo, he wades into the water.

Tayo watches him walk away, before discarding his own things beside the young American’s shirt. "We're not on the beach now," Jeremy laughs at him.

The tourist season lingers along English Harbour. There are other bathers and people lying on the sand. Past the palms and road, there are blue bungalows in groomed yards. The two teenagers move away from this into water that licks against their chests. They swim and joke around, but neither will say much about themselves.

Tayo still thinks of the young American as some privileged youth escaping his disapproving family. Jeremy came from San Diego, he gives up this much information. He came in on a sailboat and decided to stay, but there is some connection to Antigua the boy will not explain. It might be the man-sexing thing. Families are hard on batty-boys.

The playing stops and they come close to one another. They talk about the sailboats and the houses watching over them. It is just words to cover what their hands do below the surface. Tayo slips his fingers down the back of Jeremy’s shorts. His other hand releases the snap and zipper so he can reach down as far as Jeremy’s thigh. His fingers can feel the flexing muscles as the youth compensates for the shifting tide and current.

Jeremy spreads Tayo’s fly in turn. They are facing each other, heads turning from the sailboats to the beach as they keep up their quiet back and forth. Jeremy would close the distance between them, but each time the water coaxes him forward, Tayo seems to drift away. One hand clutches Tayo’s waistband, knuckles rubbing the young man’s hip bone. The other hand digs in to cup the suspended sack. Jeremy kneads it gently, his thumb finding the pulse along Tayo’s shaft. When he has Tayo proud, his palm begins to tease his toy.

Tayo’s hand pulls up to the small of Jeremy’s back. They are dancing with each other now, feet planted, pelvis moving to the beat. “Yes, that’s the length of me. You couldn’t finish this meal on the beach. You need me thrusting in you. I’ll make your batty swallow it whole. I’ll give you the agony inside. I see you thinking on it, with your smile.”

Maybe I’m thinking of my cock in you, Jeremy responds. It is true, the Antiguan teen’s, the Antiguan man’s, cock feels good in his hand. Jeremy is American Graffiti on the main drag, always ready to drop the frame and squeal down a road with someone. It is part of the hormonal overload of adolescence.

“My queen, as beautiful as sand from the beach. You’re going to feel the burn. I’m going to heat you up, boy.” It is Tayo who is heating up as Jeremy thumbs the young man’s frenulum. His finger licks like a tongue around the glan’s corona.

“I don’t burn easily.” There is an intensity to this reply. Two fingers massage down to Tayo’s root, stretching the scrotum so the tense globes within have to give way. Tayo has some inarticulate response and then the ejaculation starts. Jeremy’s palm abrades the drowning glans. His fingers pluck at Tayo’s swollen head.

Tayo smiles at Jeremy in delight. This consummation is a private joke between them. The people on the beach, so many sailboats anchored, and they are hidden in plain sight. Jeremy moves to kiss Tayo, who pushes him away.

Jeremy turns the shove into a graceful turn in the water. He rolls once, enjoying the sensation of the loose fabric about his waist. His head goes down, then comes up. "Sorry, I thought you were out."

“I’ll not be kissing boys on a crowded beach,” Tayo is flustered.

Jeremy shrugs, “I understand. Coming out, that's something we get to do in our own way. But I'm out and I don't know if I can handle the hiding again." Jeremy is done with the shame. He has learned the shame was unnecessary. He has other things to be ashamed of in his young life, liking men is not one of them. “I’m sixteen, you know, just saying.”

Adults see a teenager in the driver’s seat and imagine a learner's licence. Teenagers just see themselves as drivers. Jeremy’s body gives him license, so it’s time to claim his share of the road. He drifts back toward Tayo. He puts an arm on Tayo’s shoulder, “Just bro-touching,” he whispers in Yayo’s ear. His other hand jams down the back of the young man’s pants, testing the waters. Tayo flinches a hint of the unwelcomeness of this probe, “Okay, be that way.” Jeremy switches plans and puts Tayo in a throat lock. Jeremy wraps his legs around Tayo’s waist, spurs to the young man’s crotch. “Yah, yah, yippie kay yay, mother fucker!” He leans back.

Tayo topples back in the water, submerging them both. They are merman-tangling for a moment, and then Jeremy’s lips are on Tayo’s.

They come up separately. Jeremy splashes Tayo in the face. “There’s more than one way to ride you.”

“You’re a bit crazy, you know that?” Tayo laughs.

“We all need to go a bit mad, sometimes,” Jeremy quotes. “I’ve got to get back to packing. I work tonight. Always work to do,” he smiles at the young man, still not completely sure they are not just strangers on the beach.

“That camp flamer with the voice, he's your girlfriend?” Tayo asks as they walk back to Fourteen Gates.

“Yeah.” Jeremy is still tripping a high from coupling on Galleon Beach.

“Ah well, girlfriends are who we cheat on.”

“He's not my boyfriend because we're exclusive, he's my boyfriend because we're honest with each other. Theo and I don't lie to each other. He's one of the few people who I can be totally honest with. He knows about you and me on the beach.” Perhaps this is not exactly true. Hooking up with other men is more problematic than Jeremy implies. They try to contain the blaze, but lust can’t help it jumping well-intentioned fire breaks. A passing thought will heat his groin and set his mind jogging towards a bed.

“So you and he will be pillow-talking me,” Tayo understands bragging.

“Don’t know; it’s not Confession between us, we've got better things to talk about.” Jeremy shrugs. “If it matters, It will come up. The thing is, he knows everything I've done. You can't have friends you lie to.”

There are things a man just doesn’t tell his friends, Tayo disagrees. If it matters, it will come up to hurt you. Even friends lie. The three year difference is obvious to Tayo. Jeremy pulls his phone from his pocket. After a glance, he walks on in silence. The boy is young and he is American. This explains his self assurance. Jeremy is walking a road in English Harbour, but in his head, he is walking along some road he grew up in the United States. The boy comes from the kind of place where a boy like him walks privileged. The boy thinks he lives in Wadadli, but he is just a tourist.

“Give me your pants, give me all your clothes, I'll put them in the wash.” Jeremy does not turn to see if Tayo is going to do that.  He led the young man into the water, it would be rude to send him all the way back to St. John’s in salt-starched pants. The old washer drier can run one more load before it’s sold off. 

The boy made Tayo wait long enough for this. He held Jeremy on the beach, but the cock-tease held him off. Tayo waits until the machine is running, then he steps up. Hands on Jeremy’s shoulders, palms shaping the biceps, coming around to press fingers into breasts so that the rose nipples pinch in a scissored finger snip. Tayo sniffs the ocean salt in Jeremy’s hair.

There is a sort of virginity in this masterful approach. Tayo has had women, but Jeremy is his first dare. Pressing Jeremy back against his body, experiencing his cock nosing against the pillowed firmness of a man’s behind; this is the first time it felt safe to express his desire.

Jeremy lets Tayo cuddle. He turns his cheek, inviting a kiss. Jeremy’s hand reaches up to clasp Tayo’s neck. He likes being held, and this stokes his fire. Theo does this, as he does this to Theo. At this point, Jeremy would turn around and he and Theo would melt against each other. If Theo was here, we three could be an Oreo, and they could lick my cream filling until it dissolves. But this is just a man on the beach, so Jeremy will settle for being taken. Another place, another sexy-biker, wile( e)-coyote, the remembered need haunts him.

Tayo has had young girls as slim as this. He has forced them from behind, assuring them it is for their own protection. To have a boy like Jeremy is new. There are ghosts for Tayo too. Mother’s sons like Trini and Tayo, they know too much, too early. Tayo was Jazzie’s age when a man his mother brought home thought a threesome would be better. He stopped that fuckery before he was Trini’s age. He won’t be a cocksucking bucket boy ever again. “You going to let me put my bullets in your punni now?” tayo tries a masterful approach.

Jeremy turns around in Tayo’s arms. The young man’s cock is tracing lines on his hip. Jeremy runs his hands up Tayo’s sides. “I told you I was going to ride you.” Tayo is a stranger, so no fast movements. Jeremy has been savaged by some angry beasts. Bobcat remembers what it is like to be the prey, but bull riding, Jeremy can see the attraction.

They do it on the floor between the kitchenette and the dining set, as the washer dryer churns through their clothes. From the languid impalement (Tayo never guessed it could be that sensuous), to the tidal flow of Jeremy’s body ebbing and flowing around Tayo’s cock.

Jeremy’s manhood stretches, not quite limp, between his cording thighs. Sometimes, fingertips of one hand splay on Tayo’s torso as the other hand masturbates. Sometimes, Jeremy’s hands are pistons on his thighs, forcing him up off Tayo’s pelvis. Tayo is focussed on the seduction of muscles flexing under Jeremy’s smooth skin. The youth’s face is just a blur.

Jeremy’s focus is split between the length of flesh he elevators up and down, and the older teen’s face. Jeremy is learning to read men’s faces like a salesman closing a deal. There is that shift in the eyes and slackening of the jaw. That’s the signal for Jeremy to deny pleasure.

Jeremy stops on the top floor. Just hanging there compresses his body about the tip of Tayo’s cock. The young man’s body starts thrusting up to meet him. Jeremy drops just enough to direct the pressure onto his prostate; to let the powerful thrusts pound into him.

Tayo’s shoulders lift, supported on his elbows. Jeremy plants a hand on Tayo’s sweating chest. He won’t be bucked off so Tayo can pin him face down on the tiles for the finish. The young man has to keep rising to him, until his face contorts, and Jeremy slams down the length of cock, pressing Tayo’s orgasm into the unyielding floor.

This is a release of sorts. When Tayo settles, Jeremy slides off. To make a point, Jeremy pulls the condom off Tayo’s dazed cock. The soiled latex squeezes between two fingers, leaving Tayo’s residue to glaze the swollen member. Without glancing at his partner’s face, Jeremy takes seconds with lascivious bites and tongue laps. The way he punishes Tayo to a second orgasm is memorable. Some people are cocksuckers, and then there are cocksuckers like Jeremy.

A willing partner would let Jeremy fuck his juicy ass silly. Tayo simply uses soap to piston Jeremy’s orgasm out. Simple, but effective. There is a pleasure in the simplicity of a strong man answering your needs as your slick palms and fingers grip young muscle in a shower. They only kissed on the beach. Shari hunted for fresh tattoos for his body. This coupling is more animal than that, and Jeremy is just taking another piss.

Alibi

John Carter is piss-your-pants frightened. There is no room for Jazzie in the policeman’s office. When his mother told him that the police wanted to talk to him, her look said she could box his ear. Eleven years old he might be, but her look said she was going to take a switch to his bare bum, but first she would be his lioness in Babylon. “I’ve done nothing wrong, mum. I’m not a criminal.” John assured her.

The constables searched Papa Jack’s Civic. Henry warned John, but the news that Pudgee’s mama's place had been raided was already spread across the neighborhood. John just had the time to hide his fanny pack with all the money somewhere safe. He left the hard drive in the car, that might help him. He worried what the Galaxy might tell them.

“We don’t have money for a lawyer,” Susan Carter told her son, “You know what this is about?” Before John could build a half truth, she went on. “It’s a good sign they didn’t frog-march you off in handcuffs like they took that Nelson Bird. You stick to yes or no. None of your easy talk, John Carter. That mouth of yours is going to land you in prison.”

When the constable finally came to talk to them, Susan Carter virtuously told John to be a good boy and tell the truth. It was about the dive shop job. John took this news wide-eyed innocent. Someone in Black Hoods talked. It would not be Tayo, John was sure of that. Dray was stupid enough, the other boy maybe. John maintained the conviction that Pudgee Funk was too smart to get tripped up; maybe one of Pudgee’s stupid girls. Girls talk a lot. Then there was whoever took Pudgee Funk’s stolen goods. Tears start down John’s face. It does not matter. Now he is just a boy afraid he is in trouble.

He tells them his story. The hard drive is borrowed from his young American. The phone is a gift. He helps Jeremy on the sailboat. Jeremy lets him couch surf on the boat as night guard, sometimes he stays at Jeremy’s apartment in English Harbour. His mum knows; he told her. Why? Well, when he was in school (school’s important), it was hard to go back and forth everyday. Between terms? Well, John likes sailboats (long digression into the awesomeness of sailboats). Nelson Bird? Like other neighborhood boys, he runs (harmless) errands for Pudgee Funk, gets tips.

“And Tayo Joseph?”

John and his mother wait. Thomas Carter comes by, and Susan sends him home to help Chloe. When the hallway clears a little, Susan quietly asks her son, “This Jeremy Gates, is he going to substantiate your alibi?”

“It’s the truth mum! I went to English Harbour to listen to Jeremy’s friend sing in a restaurant. I went right back to his apartment and stayed the night.” All true, but what was his young American going to say about the five hours between? Theo sang at 9:00, Jeremy came home at 2:00.

The police make them wait a long time. All John can do was sit on the hard bench. He cannot take his phone out, because he does not want anyone to think about it. John wonders what they do with eleven-year-olds who got caught stealing. He slouches on the bench, trying to be tough like Tayo, until his mother snaps at him to sit up and stop touching his privates.

Back in the interview room, there is a new constable with an intimidating set of muscles, a gold front tooth, and a fierce look. His soft voice is surprising. He looks at John as if he knows the truth. “I’m Constable Mensah,” the burly man begins. He turns his eyes on John, “As it happens, Jeremy Gates and I are friends.” The smile John gets is not friendly. “Let’s give Jeremy a call.”

John’s leg begins to jimmy up and down as the constable leans back in his chair with the receiver to his ear. When he gets a connection, he presses the speaker button on the cradle. The constable is watching John.

“Hey Branko, what’s up?” The voice is light. There is a power drill in the background.

“I’m wondering what you were doing Wednesday night, July 24th.” Branko watches the quivering innocence across the desk. The young boy’s lips move to speak, and Branko burns him to a cinder on the chair.

“Theo sang at Chandler’s Caribbean Cafe as usual. We were invited to a boat.”

The thing to do is ask Jeremy to continue with his evening uninterrupted. Branko Mensah can see the tears forming in the young boy’s eyes. They have the men, they have the stolen goods from the dive shop in Falmouth Harbour. Besides the girl who informed, the young criminals have not said much. Too many little boys caught up in this. It’s a tragedy. 

“I’ve no interest in hearing what you miscreants were up to on a boat.”

“You’re just jealous!” Jeremy laughs, “why do you ask? What’s up?”

John Carter is rubbing his red eyes. The young street tough is collapsing as Branko watches. Branko makes a decision. “I’ve a young fellow here in Gray’s Farm who says you know where he was that night.”

“John Carter,” Jeremy confirms, “What did he tell you?”

“Ah Jeremy, I think I need to hear it from you.”

There is a long pause and John tries hard to keep his lip from trembling. He can’t look at his mother, or meet the big policeman’s eyes. John stares at the phone on the desk.

“John came with us to Chandler’s. About 9:30, he went to catch a bus. He was waiting for me at the apartment when I got home at about 2:00.” 

“That’s what I need to hear,” Branko answers.

“He missed his bus. He stays on Gravity some nights.” Branko waits out the next long pause. “The man beside me, Gustavus Nilsson, took John aboard to wait for me. You can ask Gustavus about that.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Branko answers. “I have a meeting Monday at St. Boniface. It would be good if you and Theo could come and help me. I’ll message you the details.”

“We can do that. Is John going to be with you long?”

“I’ve got a few more matters to attend to. I will need him for a while longer.”

“Maybe you can hold him till I can get there?” John tries to read the tone in Jeremy’s voice. He is so relieved, he could start crying. There is some room for a resurgence of Black-Jazzie confidence (Oh the cleverness of him to return to Fourteen Gates).

Branco cuts the connection. He turns to Susan Carter, but he is talking to the boy gasping for breath. “Jeremy Gates is a young businessman in English Harbour. I’ve known him since he came to Antigua. I take what he says seriously, Mrs. Carter. I take his interests seriously.” This last is directed at John. “The constables here will have a few more questions for young John here, about his doings in the neighborhood for these two men. It might be a while. You have no cause to worry, it would seem.”

“There will be no more questions without me. Not John’s father, mind you. You call me directly.” Susan could knock John silly, but this is not the time. Her day is ruined and she needs to return to work.

“John,” Susan Carter begins.

“I know mum, stupid prizes,” John answers cowed by this experience. She leaves him on the bench. Jeremy lied for him. This brings a hopeful smile to his lips. He pulls his Galaxy out, feeling he has weathered the worst.

John’s good mood evaporates. He checks the next message. It’s from Trini.

John slumps on the bench. He needs the washroom, but it is better if the constables ignore him. Passing messages for Tayo is over. John is pretty sure of that. The Black Hoods is over too. John is not sorry about that. The excitement is not worth the danger. He has some money stashed away. He won’t be able to help his family as much. Trini says he still wants my help. Working with Trini was easier, safer too. John has to think about that. He stares at the wall across the hallway.

“Tell us about the boy on the bench there.”

Tayo feels the tightness of the ties binding his wrists behind his back. The bitch, the stupid bitch; can’t trust bitches. He is angry with Pudgee Funk as well. Pudgee, Jazzie, Tayo, and the three boys, those were the only people who should have known. They were going to sit on the diving gear until the heat was off. Crosses now, Tayo sighs. He has confessed to nothing, but this won’t go well. Tayo knows he has to look out for himself. Jazzie and Trini, that is all that is left, and he is going to need them on the outside.

“Who, John Carter? That little no-see-um? That boy is always hanging around Nelson, hoping he can be part of things. He’ll snatch a fruit for Pudgee from the market, hoping we think he is a criminal. HIV boy tripping over his big feet. I send him out for food to keep him away. Black Hoods don’t need no HIV boy giving us the bad sickness with his coughing.”

They have too much on Pudgee Funk and him. No money for lawyers, too much evidence, but just the one BnE (so far). Maybe a little time in Her Majesty’s Prison on Coronation Road will give us the respect we need. You have to look on the bright side of life. Tupac and Gucci Mane wrote some bad-ass lyrics behind bars.

♪♫♬ “Penitentiary chances just to make a couple bucks

My heart so cold I could put it in my cup

Gang vs. the world, me and my dawg, it was us ♪♫♬

Then you went and wrote a statement

♪♫♬ And that really fucked me up”

“Yeah, you gonna have lots of time to sing,” the constable comments, jerking Tayo along.

Just Little Things

John sits on the front steps waiting for Jeremy. He tries to be no-see-um, unobtrusive. He is leaning against a cinder block column, staring at the pistachio wall. The hard drive is clutched tightly in his hand.

Branko Mensah steps past the boy, and then turns to confront him, “You play Monopoly, boy?”

“No,” John is careful to sound respectful. He knows the game. Boys from Gray’s Farm don’t sit at the dining table playing board games much.

“This was your get out of jail free card.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” There is an honest innocence in this, “Am I still in trouble?”

“You’ve been stepping into trouble. Life can be a tribulation, John Carter. I know what it is like when you have a family that can’t provide. Easy to look for answers on the street. How many children in your mama’s house?”

“Five”

“And you, the oldest. There are twelve children in my family back in Guyana. My older brothers were gold miners. That’s hard and risky work, so I came here to be a policeman. I was nineteen, your friend Tayo’s age. Better ways to put money in your pocket than dig for gold you can’t keep, but my brothers worked hard. Hard like folk here on Antigua don’t know. Your mamma work hard?”

“Yes”

“You work hard to show the little ones how to be?”

John shrugs. Talk of working hard is always on adult lips. He works hard enough to slip past his term exams. John can hardly assure the big policeman that he worked hard for Pudgee Funk and Tayo. “I work hard for Jeremy on his boat. He gave me this phone, I worked that hard.”

“Some turn to giving, some to taking,” Branko tells John. “Nothing wrong with taking when it’s given.”

“I give,” John protests. He always brought something back for Chloe. Not money, not anymore. Money he gives to Chloe just finds its way into Thomas Carter’s pocket.

“I won’t waste words telling you to stay clear of those bobolee; not going to listen to Babylon, are you? Maybe you are a clever boy. Maybe you are better at thieving than these men you want to be like. Maybe you are not clever enough, and you find yourself dancing with the real Mafia. You end up dead then, John Carter.”

Branko turns at the sound of Jeremy Gates’ old Zuma. Damn that boy! There he is, driving that unlicensed scooter right up to the door of a police station. Sixteen-year-old fool! Branko eyes the young boy. “We have our eyes on you, John Carter. You don’t fool me with your crocodile tears. You are out on parole. You know what that means?”

“No”

“It means be like your poor mamma: work hard. Second chances need to be paid back. You keep yourself right here.” The big constable goes over to greet John’s young American. They talk for a while. John knows it is about the dive shop break in.

Barbara Bakery is just across from the police station. Jeremy pays for bread, butter, and cheese. The silence grows as John distracts himself with shreds of warm bread and buttery cheese. John pops a bite in his mouth and chews it thoughtfully.

“I’m okay. It was a mistake, that’s all,” John’s eyes connect with Jeremy’s, then drop back to his plate. It was easier feigning innocence about the stolen fidget spinner. Nobody in class was looking his way. Play it like it is just some fantastic neighborhood gossip you are sharing. John’s eyes go wide. “Some criminals down the street, they robbed a store in English Harbour. They took.  Thousands of dollars, everyone says.” John is picking phrases carefully, “Pudgee Funk and Tayo—”

“Tayo?”

John’s eyes dart back to Jeremy, and his thoughts stumble. He frowns and starts again, “Pudgee and Tayo, these men? They are criminals!” John bites his lip and picks at the bread on his plate. “Maybe I knew they were trouble. See, for a little tip, I ran errands for them.” The light of John’s sincerity floods the space between them. “Just around the neighborhood. They let me hang around, they like me, see?”

For John, this is a compelling justification. Susan Carter might understand it, but she has no answer to the problem. John is eleven, sensitive to not being included. Fact is, you impress me, little man, Tayo grinned at him downtown. That felt really good. Tayo teased John for being too little, but John earned his respect anyway. He feels bad for Tayo. Dray and the other boy will end up at the Training School for Boys. John was so close to going with them. Nuff of that BnE shit! 

John needs Jeremy now more than ever. “Well, I go to Cobbs Cross School, and these men stole just up the street from there. Babylon just gets to thinking I’m a criminal too. Like I go about with a gun smashing and grabbing.” John smiles, “Jeremy, honest, I’m no part of their business. That’s scary shit those brothers are into; don’t need them mixed up in my business.” John sinks back in his chair, picks up the banana soda, all chill like he was scamming Tayo at East Town Roti.

Jeremy is staring at him. He is the young American from a different world; ice-eyes on John, just the way he surveys his sailboat for something out of place. His young American misses nothing. “Don’t be like that,” Jeremy snaps softly. This echoes his mother’s disapproving tone. “You just made your business my business when you dropped my name in that police station. You made me choose. You used me, John. Don’t be like that.”

John tries another Jazzie-don’t-care sip of soda. Another waiting game follows, and Jeremy wins again. I love you, mum! That works on Susan Carter, but this is his young American. Feeling his face begin to burn, John sits up. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t mean to,” he cannot stop the tremble.

Friends lie and disappoint, despite what Jerem told Tayo. Being used, Jeremy Gates is done with that. How many times before you learn? He asks himself. Jeremy picks up the borrowed hard drive. “You should go home. I’m going home.”

“Jeremy”

“Go home, John.”

His young American does not understand. John wants to tell him about his dad and his little sister; being forced to go to the clinic for HIV tests all the time— not too young to understand what a positive test is going to mean. Jeremy is walking away, and the teenager does not know John lost his best friend Nathan, and it wasn’t John’s fault! Jeremy needs to know John has no friends; and none of this is John’s fault! Pudgee Funk and Tayo kept expecting him to do things.

John whispers, “Nothing bad.” Just little things from people who have so much they would not possibly care; and he was helping Chloe! Just messages, and eyes and ears, just to belong. A boy needs friends who have his back. Doesn’t everyone need someone on their side? John follows Jeremy to the door. He is eleven. All he can say is, “I didn’t mean to do it.”

Jeremy is stalking away. Before the young American reaches his scooter, he pauses. John hopes their conversation is not done, but with a swipe of his arm, Jeremy lifts a trash bin up and throws it against the lattice of a cinder block wall. Unsatisfied with this, Jeremy begins kicking at the bin. The contents are strewn along the road, and the bin’s side is stove in.

John trembles, angry at Jeremy’s cruel abandonment when everything around John is collapsing. If only Jeremy would stop and listen, but John has no way to explain himself. It is not even clear to himself. Gray’s Farm is all around him, but John Carter is alone.