The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

Chapter 12

"What on earth is all that noise, child?" Lynnette's mother shouted over the phone.

Rolling her eyes at both her mom and the passing trucks beside her as she stood at the phone booth on the sidewalk, Lynnette said aloud, "It's traffic, mama! I had to use the phone outside this time!"

Lynnette had to keep a close eye on not only her watch but also the passing traffic that would at times splash water and mud up and onto the sidewalk where she was standing. She made sure to keep both her multi-colored apron and shoes as far away from the curb as possible.

"How is dad doing?" Lynnette glanced all around at the various people walking past her up and down along the street and sidewalks.

Sighing, her mother said, "He actually started back to work just last week."

"Really," Lynnette perked right up. "I bet you're happy about that; not having to work anymore."

"Oh no, I'm still gonna keep my job." Her mother quickly spoke up. "We need as much money as we can get our hands on. I'm just glad that your father is able to work again. Hopefully his time off won't affect his pension."

"I'll be sending another check next Friday." Lynnette said. "I got shorted this week because...because the restaurant had a leak, and we had to cut our hours."

"Don't worry too much about your money. You need it more for your recovery."

Lynnette bit down on her bottom lip right then, just as she did almost every time they talked over the phone.

"Isaac's father called here the other day." Wilma bitterly muttered.

"Oh yeah," Lynnette asked with a hint of wonder in her tone. "How is he doing?"

"He wanted to see the baby. I told him that that wouldn't be a good idea."

Exhaling, Lynnette replied, "Mama, let Mr. Mercer see Isaiah. He hasn't done anything wrong to anyone. That's his grandson, too."

Wilma breathed in and out before moaning, "I guess so. But do you think it's safe to let him be alone with Isaiah?"

Hopelessly grinning, Lynnette said, "Mama, that man wouldn't hurt a fly. Believe me, I should know. Listen, I have to get going. Let me talk to Isaiah real quick, please."

Lynnette waited until she could hear the boy playfully screaming for his 'mommy.' All the young woman could do was hold her breath and try not to burst out into tears.

"Hi, mommy," Isaiah blurted out.

"Hi...hi, baby." She braced herself. "Have you been a good boy?"

"Yeah," he shouted. "I go see Harem Grobtotters' with papaw!"

"You saw The Harlem Globetrotters?" She laughed. "Did you like them?"

"Yes! They play basketball!"

Unable to contain her joy, Lynnette said, "I know they do, baby."

"Okay, I got go now!"

"Okay, honey. I love you."

"Love you!"

Lynnette couldn't contain herself any longer. Her face immediately exploded into tears right there on the sidewalk in front of everyone to see.

"I swear that child has such a loud voice." Wilma came back to the phone. "He's gonna grow up to be a singer, I can guarantee that."

Wiping her face, Lynnette cleared her throat. "Is...is he still having nightmares about dogs?"

"Off and on," Wilma's voice faltered. "I let him sleep with me and your dad sometimes."

"I wish so much I could be there with him." Lynnette whimpered.

"He'll be just fine, girl. You just take care of your health. That's all that matters right now."

"Please insert another quarter for five more minutes." The recording over the phone all of the sudden interrupted.

"Mama, I'm almost out of time."

"Go on back to work, Lynn, and we'll talk tomorrow."

"Okay, I love you, mama. And tell daddy I love him, too."

"We love you too, baby girl."

Lynnette couldn't hang up the phone quick enough. After so long, the irate noise of the traffic became all but soundless. All she had to do was hear her child and everyone and everything around her became like fog. The young lady continued to wipe her face before she eventually got onto her bike and pedaled down the street that led to the nearby beach.

Lynnette was finding more and more that her phone calls home were becoming more of a nuisance than a blessing. There wasn't a day that passed by that she didn't want to race to the airport and hop on the very first plane back to Ohio. She was beginning to believe that her journey was all but in her head, along with the events of the previous months.

She harbored such thoughts ever since first arriving in Jamaica. Nothing about the country made her feel at ease. Almost everything and everyone had gotten on her last nerve; and the people that she could tolerate were beginning to wear thin upon her as well. From the food, the noise, the rain and the heat Lynnette just wanted to drop dead right in the middle of the street and remain there until someone found it within themselves to bury her.

The moment her bike rounded the bend that dead ended towards The Kabal her stomach immediately began twisting and churning. A sour taste began swirling about inside her mouth the closer she made it to the place until her feet that were pedaling so fast at one point started to feel like sludge. She got off the bike and lanced it to a wooden fence before speedily carrying herself to the backdoor. The very second she walked through the door the ruckus of waiters and cooks bantering back and forth in the kitchen rushed at her full bore. From one end to the other men and women raced around, avoiding one another in their daily course of discussing the menu.

Lynnette only wrapped her scarf around her already sweating head and inhaled the curry aroma that suffocated the already stifling kitchen.

"Ya keep getting later and later, girl!" Clea announced as she came flying through the swinging doors from the dining area.

Lynnette blushed as she swiped one of the order tickets from off the hanging turnstile and studied its writing. Clea stood next to Lynnette and said nothing. Lynnette could feel a presence beside her but her attention was far away.

"Ya look like you've been cryin', girl." Clea whispered into her ear.

Jumping back, Lynnette said, "Oh...I was just thinking about something."

"Ya know she always gets dat way after talking to her son!" Another one of the waitresses loudly remarked as she carried a large plate of food out into the dining room.

Lynnette just stared and rolled her eyes at the woman before starting for the dining room. But before she could take even one step, Clea took her by the hand and said, "Don't ya let Mr. Hunta or dose Yankee boys we be servin' all day see ya look like dat, girl."

Instantly, Lynnette went over to the small mirror on the wall next to the backdoor and examined herself. Within the mirror she saw a face flush with both tears and sorrow. She promptly wiped it all away before turning, brushing right past Clea and bolting out into the busy dining area. Her once distressed face had within the span of three seconds blossomed into a blissful bouquet of a smile and dreamy eyes that caused most patrons to instantaneously take notice of her. Lynnette spotted her assigned table and right away made a mad dash over to where an older, white couple was already seated.

"Hello, my name is Lynnette, and I'll be taking your order today." She continued to smile.

"Oh, you're actually an American!" The balding man looked up amazed.

Taken aback, Lynnette replied, "Yep, I sure am."

"Wow, you have to be the first American we've seen since we've been here." The lady appeared so amused. "We're the Millers. I'm June, and this is Bill."

"Oh really," Lynnette began to relax a bit.

"Yeah, we've been here now for the past two days, and we haven't seen or heard an American up until now."

"There's actually a few scattered about here and there." Lynnette said.

"Whereabouts from the states are you from? If you don't mind us asking," Bill queried.

"I'm from Ohio."

"Are you serious?" They both lit up. "We're from Ohio, too!"

Still hugging her smile, Lynnette asked, "Wow, what a coincidence."

"What city are you from?" June asked. All rights © NôvelDrama.Org.

"Cypress."

"We're from Canton. We're here for our twentieth wedding anniversary." Bill enthusiastically gripped his wife's hand. "It's amazing that this town was started just a few years ago. " He marveled. "And by a gang of hippies, no less!"

The conversation lasted a bit longer than it should have for a waitress, but Lynnette couldn't seem to help herself. Just hearing another voice that didn't sound like an islander's caused her once tumbling stomach to gradually settle. It didn't make a difference what color they were, they reminded her of home, and that alone made the young woman only laugh all the harder at their over-exuberant behavior. Once she had taken their orders Lynnette ran the ticket back to the kitchen. She then came back out and quickly went to her next assigned table where a well-dressed white man was seated with the menu hiding his face.

"Hello, sir. Welcome to The Kabal. Can I take your order?" She continued to shine.

Livingston, adorned in a sandy-colored blazer, matching slacks and a white shirt, placed the menu down onto the table.

"Good day, Love." He spoke in a more dignified vernacular. "It's good to be here."

"What can I get for you today, sir?"

Smiling from cheek to cheek, Livingston stared straight at Lynnette before saying, "I must say that I've been to this place quite a few times, but I never knew they employed Americans."

"Yeah, I'm only here for a little while, and then I'm heading right back home."

Glaring with kindness, Livingston replied, "I see. I see. Well, what do you suggest?"

"I seem to be a wee-bit sloggered, everyone!" Silas came stumbling out of nowhere with a shot glass full of bourbon and a loud, jovial mouth for everyone in the restaurant to hear.

Amused, Lynnette rolled her eyes at the drunken man while Livingston appeared on the thralls of getting up and separating the man's head from the rest of his body.

"You'll have to forgive him." Lynnette explained. "Sometimes it gets a little rowdy in here."

"A bit garish for my taste," Livingston grumbled under his breath while composing himself.

Pointing down at the menu, Lynnette said, "Well, the sweet potato hash is really good, so is the coconut soup."

The second Lynnette removed her eyes away from the menu she noticed that Livingston suddenly had an intriguing glare staring right at her. It was an alluring, if not spaced out stare that caused the young lady's smile to slowly dissipate.

"I must say, coming from my homeland, I have never tried sweet potatoes before." Livingston placed his hands on the table.

"Back in my country we prepare them a bit differently; but they're still good here, too."

"I'm awfully glad to know that. This place beats an old pub anytime, my dear."

Lynnette continued to stand at the table, practically melting inside her own tennis shoes. She wasn't flattered, but rather anxious to take the man's order.

"I shall have your sweet potato hash, and I shall top it off with a bottle of your best rum."

Lynnette wrote down the man's order. "Okay, and will that be all?"

"And just one more thing," Livingston held up his right hand.

Lynnette waited for at least four seconds for the man to say what he was supposed to say. But when all he did was sit and stare the woman began to believe that he may have been yet another visiting 'hands on' drunkard; in the afternoon, no less.

"Could you please indulge me with just one answer?"

With a pair of shifty eyes, the woman stuttered, "What would that be?"

"Could you please direct me to the bathroom?" Livingston snickered.

Unclenching her body, Lynnette grinned and pointed, "Yeah, it's down that hallway there."

"I am your servant." He bowed his head.

Walking away and shaking her head in an amused fashion, Lynnette made her way into the kitchen. Just as soon as she stuck the order ticket to the turnstile one of the cooks called out, "Lynn, dere's someone at de backdoor for ya!"

Lynnette paused for a few moments before cautiously walking to the door. She opened it and looked around only to see the alley and a few trash cans.

"Over here." A man's voice whispered.

Stunned, Lynnette looked to her left to see a young, ragged looking black man standing behind the door. Lynnette shut the backdoor behind her and approached the man.

"I told you not to come by here." She folded her arms in disgust.

Lynnette then spun around to see another ragtag looking man approaching her from behind. They both had the appearance of homeless men. The smell about them was that of marijuana mixed with alcohol and must. Their beards were so full that only their eyes could be seen.

"Do ya have our money?" One of the men held out his right hand.

"I didn't find what I was looking for, so no, I don't have your damn money." Lynnette said in a belligerent tone.

"But we gave ya the directions to de mon." The other fellow remarked.

Lynnette turned around. "All I found was a swamp." She sternly replied. "I shot an alligator."

At that instant both men burst out into laughter at her expense. "Ya not shoot an alligator, girl, ya shot a crocodile!"

"Who cares?" She tossed up her arms. "We've been doing this for the past month, and still I have nothing! I'm not giving either of you anymore money! You're both full of shit!"

Lynnette then attempted to turn and open the door, only to have both men grab and restrain her before slamming her against the brick wall.

"Ya American's tink ya come here and tell us what to do!" One of the men sneered into her face with his rank breath. "We want our money!"

The other man whipped out a switchblade and pressed it against Lynnette's face. All the woman could possibly do at that painstaking instant was hope to at least faint.

"Give us our fuckin' money or we cut your black ass up and mail ya back to whiteyland!"

Lynnette was afraid, but her attackers were not men, rather, they were full of fur and fangs. That was all she could see threatening her with imminent death.

"What be happenin' out here!" An older black man came rushing out the backdoor.

Without warning, both of the attackers took off down the opposite end of the alley until they were no longer in sight.

Clea, along with the older man and another man came out to console Lynnette. "I tol you not to deal wit dem mountain boys, gal," Clea shouted. "Dey be nuttin' but trouble and de devil!"

But Lynnette was without much emotion as the three cajoled her back inside the building. She was shaking from head to toe, her eyes were wide and jittery, but the fear was repressed. The fear itself was ever so present, and yet the thought of shedding even one tear never crossed her mind. Not once.

"Come on in here and sit down." The manager of the restaurant said to Lynnette.

Slowly, Lynnette sat down in a chair that was placed next to the backdoor. Everyone inside the kitchen stood and watched with worried eyes at the young woman who appeared completely shell-shocked to the naked eye.

"Good God, mon!" One of the cooks hollered.

Everyone turned and looked at the man who just happened to be standing at the sink. The cook jumped back as black ooze funneled out of and onto the floor like sludge. They all watched in dreaded horror as the liquid saturated the already dirty linoleum.

"Get de mops!" The manager hysterically ordered as he himself raced from one end of the kitchen to the other.

Lynnette sat perfectly still and watched as everyone ran like crazed mice trying to soak up the black filth before it reached the dining area. The muck was thick, and yet it somehow managed to seep like water throughout the kitchen in such a rapid movement. Lynnette glanced over at the sink where the blackness was still bubbling up and over. From her near fatal stabbing to a mysterious ooze taking over the kitchen was all she could withstand for the day.

With not much on her mind Lynnette simply got up from out of her chair and splashed across the floor, past one co-worker after another towards the dining area. The instant she entered into the dining room everyone within all stopped and stared as the woman left black imprints on the floor that were tracked from the kitchen. Even Silas the drunk managed to pause his frivolity in order to view the mess that she was leaving in her wake as Lynnette lethargically exited the restaurant altogether without looking back.