Dancehall Don

Prologue

Hungry Gully, Kingston 2001

Clock, so named because his left hand was shorter than the right, entered his baby mother's dusty yard, which housed a lean-to-two-roon shack not unlike the others on both sides of the gully. The gully, a two hundred and twenty meters long cesspool of feces, urine, spent shells and garbage, separated the squatter communities who had decided at some point in their twenty-two year existence, that they didn't like each other despite the fact that misery loved company and they were both strongholds for the same political party.

The zinc gate protested loudly at being awakened. It shut up when he closed it and made his way inside the house, illuminated by two kerosene lamps. The community had electricity sometimes but the National Power Company had taken advantage of the heavy police and military presence due to the recent gang war and removed the wires that were being used to steal electricity. The curves adorned were real though.

Today was special because the rival communities had called the truce. Elections were on the horizon and the Member of Parliament had paid the dons on both sides of the ceasefire until after the election. They had not seen each other in over a month. She had not been able to leave the community due to the war and the curfew, and it was impossible for a Clock to visit her for the same reason. But tonight they were free to see each other. Fuck each other. Hold on vibe with each other. She glanced at his son Trystan, who was fast asleep on the small mattress on the living room floor, before shifting the flimsy curtain that separated the living room from the bedroom and going in.

"Babes." She was sitting on the bed, her back propped up on two pillows against the wall, one knee up as she smoke a spliff, her pussy not fully contained by the flimsy lace panties, the pouty lips looking like they were gnawing their way free. Her usually husky voice was even huskier with lust. It was 12:30 a.m. and she wanted to start her 20th birthday off right.

Clock was 7 years older than her and had got her pregnant when she was 14 years old, a week after they met at a peace dance as a venue close to both communities.

"Happy Birthday," Clock said, as he handed her a tiny scandal bag.

"T'ank yuh babes." Her cute face, freshly scrubbed and devoid of the cheap makeup on the dresser, sported a wide smile as she took it and checked the contents. She unfolded the tissue and remove a thin gleaming gold necklace with a heart pendant. "It pretty babes, Jah know. T'anks again."

"Nuh seh nutten baby girl...a real gold," Clock said, as he took it and placed it's around her neck. It's truly was a nice chain. If you weeks ago he had caught a white-looking woman unawares as he walked by her high-end vehicle at the stoplight close to Grants Pen and snatched the chain from around her neck. He had put it up for Paris' birthday. "It look perfect' pan yuh."

She removed the spliff from the corner of her mouth and placed it on the chipped enamel saucer she was using as an ashtray, and place the saucer on the dresser.

"Mi did miss yuh eh si babes..." She whispered as she helped him undress, her pussy quivering with delight that he was hard. He muttered something she couldn't make out and quickly removed her underwear. They climbed onto the bed and she positioned on her back with her legs spread wide and held high. Clock plunged inside her "Yes Clock, gimme mi cocky, fuck out mi hole babes," She said, her hands roaming his back touching the scar from the bullet that was lodged too close to his spine to be removed. "A so man fi wine up inna gal hole...sas crise..." Clock obliged, grinding inside her like he wanted to break his shafts off inside her. Her pussy, despite its wetness, gripped him like it was down with the plan.

God he had missed her. He was tired of this. Every time the communities warred, which was often, as the truces never lasted, he had to stay away from his woman and his child. He had several of the former, but none mattered other than Paris, and he had only one of the latter, at least as far as he knew, and it would remain that way until he got Paris pregnant again, which he didn't want to do until they were able to live together. He was planning a big move and if it worked, he was going to relocate to Westmoreland with his family and get into the weed farming business and live a low-key life in the country away from the concrete jungle. There was nothing here but death, destruction, filth and badmind.

"Bloodclaat babes...doah stop...mi a come to pussyclaat...mmm...mmmm...mmmmm..."

The first sound made them freeze. The second one made them scamper off the bed. They didn't get the chance to reach for their clothes. Three armed men had entered the room. The smell of hate, and wash bodies, dirty clothes, season read and sweat join the smell of sex and fear.

"Nail, a wah dia fah iyah?" Clock asked, trying to keep his tone respectable despite his fear, shock and anger. Nail and his brother Hammer were the leaders of the Board Gang, the gang that ran this side of Hungry Gully. He was surprised to see Hammer. Hammer had been in prison for a while. He was obviously out now. Hammer wasn't paying him any mind. Paris had his full attention. The look he was giving her make Clock's skin crawl and he immediately knew what this was about. "We 'ave a truce...a wah de problem?"

"A nuh on problem enuh," Nail replied, "jus' a likkle vibes we come fi saat out."

"Daddy! Daddy!" The ruckus had woke up Trystan, but like a true child of the ghetto, he had remained quiet while trying to figure out what was going on, if it were for Babylon that had kicked on the door or gunmen. He heard his father's voice and tried to run to him. One of the men grabbed him and held him by the throat.

"Please, let him go. Don't touch kid man, him nuh 'ave nutten fi do wid nutten." Nail butted Clock in the forehead with the rifle he was holding. "Yuh nuh gi nuh orders yah so pussy," he growled. "Any way, nuh long talking. Mi bredda wah yuh gal an' she a gi him tough chat bout she taken, so wi come fi remove who tek har."

He and one of the other men rushed Clock and began to beat him. Trystan screamed and flailied in his captors tight grip, who boxed him viciously to quiet down.

Clock fell to the ground and got into the fetal position with his hands blocking his face and head, trying to protect his body from the blows raining down.

" Stop! Stop! Mi a beg yuh, ju's lef' him Nail, mi wi do anyt'ing oonuh wah, jus' let him go," Paris pleaded through tears. Hammer and buckled his pants and pushed it and his boxers down to his thighs and got on top of her.

Nail and the other man stopped beating clock and pulling up. "Watch yuh ex gal get good fuck," Nail said as the other man snickered. They held him up and made him watch. Hammer was extremely well endowed. He made Paris weep in pain. She blacked out when he went into her ass. He didn't stop until her climaxed.
"A my bitch dat now," he said and his brother and the other man push Clock away.

Hammer took a small handgun from his pants pocket and before pulling up his clothes, and shot Clock in his face he died instantly. "At leas' de pussy neva beg fi him life like a big pussy gal," Hammer commented.

They all had a good laugh. They released the traumatized boy who climbed onto the bed and hugged his sweaty, unconscious mother.

"Mek sure mi breakfast ready lata," Hammer said to deaf ears as the exited the house. "Go bun de buddy roun' a de usual place," Hammer instructed two members of the crew. They immediately went to do his bidding.

Paris regained consciousness just as they were removing Clock's body.

Her pain resonated throughout the community.

Many heard her.

None would come to aid her.