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?"

him, he

him for years now. I just

before looking back at Livingston. "How ya get used to dat?" He pitched his pipe down the mountain's edge. "All our lives we hear

a nightmare," Livingston cut in. "Yeah, I

have seen Tala. It took at least two hours to get her to calm down. She even talkin' 'bout

it's up to you and the others to make sure she holds off on that till after

was dat?" Philippe spun around and stared

asked, "What, are you

his lantern in all directions while Livingston just stood and marveled at

I say, he won't be

"Me and de others can't

"Yeah, you and me

tuned his lantern to Livingston's face and queried, "I guess ya go back to England

with Interpol still on my tail. Nope, Cuba is

"What's in

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

"It sounds like a nice

Livingston glanced over at 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

dere nuting here but de rain

Livingston turned to face Philippe at that second with a subtle grin on his face,

"You should be

off guard, Philippe replied, "How

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

about dem." Philippe explained. "At first, we thought

you

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

his burned 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