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

years now. I just can't believe you all haven't

used to dat?" He pitched his pipe down the mountain's edge. "All our

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

took at least two hours to get her to calm down.

and the others to make sure she holds off on that till after I dynamite

dat?" Philippe spun

Livingston asked, "What, are you

directions while Livingston just stood and

I say, he won't

de others

you and me both," Livingston

his lantern to Livingston's face and queried, "I guess

likely. Not with Interpol still on my tail. Nope, Cuba is my next and final

"What's

before answering. "That's where a lot of those old Nazi bastards are hiding out. No extradition there. A person

"It sounds

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

mon, dere nuting here but de

that second with a subtle grin on his face, as

"You should be used to them

"How ya mean? Ya

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

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

"That is until you saw them face

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

out cigarette and tossed it down the mountain before snorting and replying, "The first time I met them, they appeared just like your average islander. But then again, there was always something off about the five of