The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

It was the blackest night. The rain was coming down, but not in such torrential spurts. Beyond midnight it had dissipated into a simple, quiet sprinkle that actually felt relaxing to one's skin. Livingston, with his black parka wrapped around his upper body, came out of the mouth of the cave while in the midst of lighting a cigarette. The pungent aroma of burning Ganga hung in the air while the sounds of bats' wings flapping in the night could be heard nearby.

The worn man, with his pistol secured in his right pocket, came to the very edge of the mountain and stood. He looked down into the black, cavernous bottom and listened at the various nighttime creatures that dwelt from within.

"Fucking disgusting country," he spat down the mountain with such spiteful vigor.

"Say dere." A voice sounded out all of the sudden.

Livingston wasn't even startled. He just turned around to see a tiny glow with a silhouette behind it drawing closer and closer to him. The nearer the silhouette approached the more the smell of Ganga reeked into Livingston's nostrils causing him to blow the stench away.

"You and the rest of them are gonna smoke your brains out with the shit." Livingston took a puff of his cigarette.

Philippe, with his head underneath his own parka, approached Livingston and attempted to hand the man his pipe only to have Livingston refuse.

"You know I don't care for that." Livingston snickered.

"It good for de lungs, mon," Philippe snorted.

"We'll see if you say that when you're sixty, mate." Livingston smirked.

The two men stood at the edge of the mountain and smoked on and on before Philippe spoke up and asked, "Where did he say he was going again?"

"He never did say. But then again, do you really care?"

Philippe just turned his head as a response. Livingston looked all around at the darkness before spitting again down the mountain.

"Dat's why me and de boys smoke dis, mon, so we won't have to remember his face."

Livingston looked over at the young man with the cockiest expression. "You and those other fellas have been smoking that stuff since you were boys. Who do you think you're fooling?"

"Ya see him, he look

him. I've been seeing him for years now. I

get used to dat?" He pitched his pipe down the mountain's edge. "All our lives we hear about

nightmare," Livingston cut in. "Yeah, I know. Believe

two hours to get her to calm down. She

the others to make sure she holds off on that till after I dynamite that cave. Arthur said we're digging in the right place, so it shouldn't be too much

dat?" Philippe spun around and stared into

loud, Livingston asked, "What, are you

Philippe kept shining his lantern in all directions while Livingston just stood and marveled

say, he

and de others

and me

tuned his lantern to Livingston's face and queried, "I guess ya go back to England when all of dis is

Not with Interpol still on my tail. Nope, Cuba is my

"What's

Livingston thought for a moment or two before answering. "That's where a lot of those old Nazi bastards are hiding out. No extradition there. A person can

"It sounds

of it, they're not too fond of mine either. But I think I have a better chance of blending in. Why not move to America? With the

"Yeah, mon, dere nuting here but de

Philippe at that second with a subtle grin on his face, as to say

be used to them

taken off guard, Philippe replied, "How

a long drag of his cigarette, Livingston regretfully sighed,

Philippe explained. "At first, we thought dem to be legends. Fairy

is until you saw them

before saying, "But you

average islander. But then again, there was always something off about the five of them. Then of course, I got the misfortune of seeing them change. Blimey, that's something a