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Dante's Fire Chapter Twenty Two: Big Jack
BIG JACK Big Jack did not take his car.Cars rolling through the city were far more conspicuous than people, he had learnt. Especially when the vehicle in question was a blue Impala. People could not always remember what a person looked like. They would say, He was big. They would use adjectives like tall, short, skinny. They would say, I think he had brown hair. But they often did not remember the vitals needed to differentiate one person from the other. The case was not always the same with cars. You saw a blue Chevrolet or a green bentley with obfuscated windows parked at the side the street, and you knew what you saw. Nobody could tell you different.So Big Jack took the bus to the deeper parts of the city, what some liked to call the city's 'underbelly'. It was in these cramped alleys that the most crimes were committed; it was at these corners that the mafia's 'snow' sold best. He knew the rough terrain like the back of his hand.He alighted from the bus when he had gotten as f
Dante's Fire Chapter Twenty Three: Big Jack
BIG JACK They were in bed, in the master bedroom when he came up on them. Natasha still had clothes on, underwear actually, a binder and tights; Palomar otherwise did not.There was a tray of what looked like strawberries and squares of brown cake in a intricately designed silver tray on the red-and-white sheets. There was a vase shaped bottle of wine on the hardwood floor. Two glasses sat beside the wine, another had rolled on its side across the room. Natasha had her back to the door which was cracked open just a small bit, while Palomar faced it, but her eyes were closed because Natasha had her face buried in her neck. She made purring noises, like a cat under the caresses of an agreeable hand. It struck Big Jack that, with her head tilted at that angle and her oblique eyes pressed shut so tightly, she had a remarkable resemblance to one too.He cleared his throat meaningfully.Palomar's eyes flew open and she let out a screech deserving of a banshee. Luckily, it was a big house, s
Dante's Fire Chapter Twenty Four: Jackie
JACKIE The apartment always smelled of musk in the mornings. Musk and coffee, to be fair. Jackie consumed coffee like a chain smoker burnt through packs of cigar, seeking out caffeine the exact same way they sought out the sweet flavour of nicotine. For her it was not only a stimulant, it was the one thing that stayed the same wherever she went. Everything else changed, passed, fell apart, but the aroma of mocha in her apartment was something that had become familiar, old, steady like a rock in the middle of a stream. As a person who was unused to stability, it felt good to have this, something somewhat permanent. This was why she noticed the difference the instant she stepped into her living room.The atmosphere in the small space was awash with a new fragrance that was neither musk nor coffee. It smelled like the outdoors in winter, like snow freshly fallen from the sky. The windows were shut when she went around the house. There was a pot of pinkish wandering Jew plant at her kitc
Dante's Fire Chapter Twenty Five: Jackie
JACKIE They sat at the counter in her kitchen, drinking coffee out of plastic cups. They had wandered into the kitchen after Joaquin said he would need a steaming cup of something. Even if the something was a cup of boiling water. The day was a particularly snowy one, the wind biting deep, without mercy. Christmas was about a week away, and as usual, the city was drowning in white and red, in wreaths of mistletoe, in vibrant green holly and merry bells. At the stores there were more things on discount, there were decorations and lights.For Jackie, Christmas was that time of the year that she had always spent alone, when she learnt to twist the insecurity of being abandoned into the peacefulness of solitude. The bells brought her no merriness, the hollies and mistletoes, no joy.Steam rose out of Joaquin's cup and he held it with both hands. It curled upwards, heavenward, like smoke from an immolation. He blew on it. 'You always do that,' Jackie said to him, watching him meticulousl
Dante's Fire Chapter Twenty Six: Andre
ANDREAndre dreamt that he was at the orphanage, that he was a boy again, starved, gaunt in face, still small. He dreamt that he was at the overseer's office, that he was standing as still as a statue, as most children were wont to do in the woman's presence. You stood before her and felt immediately like a criminal. It might have been her eyes, those hazel suns. They had an accusing way about them. It might have been the aura in the orphanage. A forbidding, gloomy aura that cast shadows over every thing and every child. It was a wonder that people were often surprised that adopted kids almost never turned out all right. It was just as he remembered it, that office. Even in his dreams, his memory of the place was hauntingly perfect. Poorly lit and cramped, it was filled up to bursting with shelves thick with files. These files were stuffed with papers browned at their edges. Identification passports littered the ground. Names, dates of birth, places of origin filled the pa
Dante's Fire Chapter Twenty Seven: Andre
ANDREThe Torrents was a bar about fifteen minutes from Andre's place, if he drive slow. It was run by an African-American woman who wore a loose, big afro that shrouded her head like a halo, and whose sunken in cheeks made her fleshly lips seem even more prominent than they were. She was bony every where but her chest, and it seemed to Andre that half the time, the men and women who patronized the Torrents were simply hoping to score. You could tell by their excessively sly smiles, by the pointed stares they gave, the lingering looks. They were usually encouraged by the fact that she was flirted with reckless abandon on a good night; that she was quite young; that she had an easy way about her. She could, for one, make anybody feel special, from the urbane businessman looking to unwind with a few drinks to the occasional fool who entered the bar half intoxicated and had to leave propped on the shoulder and arms of a grossly irritated friend. She was good at recalling names a
Dante's Fire Chapter Twenty Eight: Dante
DANTEHis uncle, Orlando, looked the part, if any thing.The man wore a grizzly fur coat over a formal shirt and suit pants. His fingers were fat with gold bands. Dante held the door to the Wrangler open for him. He had begun to use the car again since after he paid Natasha that visit. The house staff had returned from their leave and things were going as they used to preceding his father's murder. At least, at the surface, they seemed to be. He had visited his club, Ambience, twice already. As always, his manager was on top of things.Dante and Orlando settled into the backseat and the driver, Imani—a woman his uncle had personally referred for the job—fired the engine. Soon they were grinding off the gravel driveway and out of the mansion.Dante adjusted and readjusted his blazer. A Rolex encircled his left hand and a Cavier encircled his left. If you glanced at the two of them, the contrast between them, you would have thought that it w
Dante's Fire Chapter Twenty Nine: Andre
ANDREWhen finally he woke, he woke gasping.The dreams had taken him again, but this time, they were fiercer. More palpable. They made to hold him and keep him with them. Keep him asleep.The dreams, they had taken the same form that they often did, but at the same time, they were different. Again, he was in the overseer's office. Again, she lunged at him. But this time she had got a hold of him, her snout full of lethal teeth just an inch away from his face, dripping saliva, and Andre had screamed and shrieked until he fell the other room. The one with the pounding and the wailing at the other side. This time, however, when he threw his shoulder into it, the door came down for him. This time, he charged out into what was supposed to be the living room.Only that it was not.It was, instead, a world of pitch black, of total darkness. And worse still, there was no ground beneath his feet.Andre fell and fell and fell and fell.He
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