B R I C K Y March Pen| Spanish Town Saturday|April 13
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The unfinished building is a ghost of what it's meant to be—steel beams jutting out like the skeleton of a monster, concrete floors littered with dust and debris.
I walk the perimeter, every step echoing in the hollow space. The late afternoon sun slants through the gaps in the walls, casting long shadows that seem to dance with my frustration.
I stop in the middle of the room, facing the gang members who've gathered. Their faces are a mix of worry and weariness. I need their full attention now, more than ever.
Kill me fi kill all a them and start fresh.
"Aight, listen up!" My voice rings out, cutting through the low murmur of voices.
Their heads snap up, eyes locking onto me. "We have some issues right now. I need to know who's been playing both sides."
Junior, the skinny youth with more bravado than sense, shuffles uneasily. "Bricky, you think smaddy a talk to the Babylon them?"
See the difference with me and Mafia, no likkle pickney couldn't inah my thing. He's just sixteen, school him must deh or something.
I glare at him. "I don't just think. Me know. Me a hear too much stories that don't add up. Some body a feed them information, and we need to find out who."
And if me nuh find out a who, me a dirt everybody.
Except me cousin. Cause who else ago cuss everybody and make me laugh.
A low rumble of anxious chatter fills the room. I scan the crowd, searching for any sign of guilt.
My eyes land on Tyaire, standing off to the side like he doesn't wants to be here. I stride over to him. "Shotta, you been 'round these streets long enough. Yuh see nothing outta the ordinary?"
He grew up here with Mafia unlike me who grew up in Maxfield.
Tyaire's gaze meets mine, his eyes narrowing as he speaks. "Yeah, me see some new face 'round thepace but them a say a some old lady them related to, me deeven know. Smaddy did a tell me say them inquisitive though, bare questions them ask."
I focus on Tyaire's description, piecing together the puzzle. "New faces? Describe 'em."
Tyaire rattles off details—mannerisms, clothing, anything that stands out. I listen closely, connecting the dots in my mind.
If there's a rat, I need to flush them out before things spiral further.
"Me think we have wah rat inah the ranks," I say, my voice heavy. "And whoever it is, them a play both sides. Me need fi find out who it is before it gets worse."
