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?"

see him, he look

saw him. I've been seeing him for years now. I just can't

ya get used to dat?" He pitched his pipe down the mountain's

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

at least two hours to

holds off on that till after I dynamite that cave. Arthur said we're digging in the right place, so it shouldn't be

spun around

loud, Livingston asked, "What, are you shaking in your

Philippe kept shining his lantern in all directions

me when I say, he won't be

de others can't

"Yeah, you and me both,"

Philippe then tuned his lantern to Livingston's face and queried, "I

still on my tail. Nope, Cuba is

"What's in

a moment or two before answering. "That's where a lot of those

"It sounds like a

the young man. "To be honest, Mr. Castro and his regime aren't too fond of people of your color. Come to think 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 wealth your about to receive you'll be a star up there. God knows there's nothing here in this

nuting here but de rain

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

"You should be used

Appearing taken off guard, Philippe replied, "How ya mean? Ya see

drag of his cigarette, Livingston regretfully sighed, "Yeah...I've

up hearing about dem." Philippe explained. "At first, we

until you saw them face

Philippe just shook his head up and down before saying, "But you

your 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