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Winners

Reilly Maginn

    “Takesha, we done won somethin’. Look here,” Jamal said, waving a red lettered, thick package, as he brought mail back from the roadside mailbox of their newly constructed FEMA modular home, west of the ninth district of New Orleans. His wife, Takesha, sitting inside the barred front window of the living room, looked up, then walked to the similarly barred front door and stepped out on their bare front porch. The barred windows and front door bore witness to the local crime and burglary, so rampant in the recently re-built ‘section eight’ low rent ninth district housing project, the returning tenants of New Orleans, who, fleeing from hurricane Katrina’s surging flood some four years ago, now occupied. Initially, meant to be temporary housing, the newly arrived refugees refused to leave when the immediate emergency was over and were subsequently housed first in trailers and finally in these modular homes furnished by the government agency, FEMA.
    Jamal was the local drug dealer in the newly created neighborhood of hurricane Katrina refugees. Jamal the Gerbil, is what they called him on the street. His skin, the color of a Starbuck’s latte’, with a thin black Boston Blackie mustache, a receding chin and an associated under bite, his rodent like hobbling gait and hunched over posture, the result of a rival dealer’s bullet; indeed, Jamal was the neighborhood Gerbil.
    “What you say? Where. What we won? We never won nothin’ in this town. Why the hell we didn’t we move back into the ninth I’ll never know. This new town show me nuthin’. FEMA done us black folk dirt by keeping us this side of the river here in choclate city and keepin’ us from movin’ back ‘cross the river to the hood.” Takesha was in one of her moods.
    Takesha, Jamal’s wife, was the shrewish matriarch of the family. She was the loudly outspoken and strident voice of the local NAACP chapter as well as a vociferous supporter of the ACLU affirmative action effort, and she expressed her opinions at full volume whether asked for or not, and in no uncertain terms.
    “Stop yo’ complainin’, girl. You know there’s no way we could go back to the old hood. It’s still dirty and smells nasty. No electricity. No water. Nobody lives there since the flood. We can’t do no business there now and you knows it.”
    “We made a good livin’ in Nawlins ever since we moved down here from Tupeloe, Jamal.”
    “You miss them cotton fields up there in the delta, now don’t you, girl.”
    “Jamal, I miss my hometown; where I was borned and growed up and I still ain’t over this here move to the city as yet. We move here to Nawlins and I feel outa place. Din’t know nuthin’ ‘bout this city, this river and this here ocean. Even after four years, still don’t know much ‘bout the river or the ocean.”
    “Takesha, it really ain’t the ocean
    it’s the Gulf of Mexico.”
    “All same to me. It’s big and it’s deep. Hears you get sick and puke up you go a ways out there.”
    “Don’t you be worrin’ ‘bout pukin’ up in the gulf, girl. We ain’t plannin’ to go out there.”
    “You right ‘bout dat brother, we done good business back in the ninth. But there ain’t no more people there now, Jamal, and that be the reason we stuck here in this here FEMA town.”
    “We got lots of customers, right here, this side of the river, honey. We got enough these hooked crack head kids to keep us in high cotton for a time. We actually doin’ better here now, than we did in the old Nawlins ninth hood, so stop yo’ bitchin’.”
    “I still think we need to move back to a real city instead of this boonie burb town.”
    “Takesha, the DEA was about to take us down and you know it. Katrina actually saved us from the MAN. Word on the street was we was a goin’ down on the Thursday ‘fore she hit on Friday and the only reason they din’t git us was they was a’ gettin’ ready for the big blow acomin’ off the gulf. It was their third try on us but they just never got ‘round to us after the flood. I heard from a rat on the street that a couple of our people was actin’ white and turned us. Heard that a passle of marshals were a’gettin’ ready to hit us agin, we move back over there. We beat ‘em out three times already. We mighta’ lost the place and the business, but Katrina done saved us from the big house. I hear the bail is now runnin’ fifty big ones for dealers over there now and we just ain’t got that kind of sugar, now do we?”
    “Don’t be tellin’ me what I already knows. Tell me what you wavin’ round in yo’ hand. What we did won?”
    “This here fat package with the red writin’ say we won sumpin’. Don’t rightly know what it is yet but it sure be thick and heavy girl. Say right here, YOU ARE IN—YOU ARE A WINNER. Don’t know what it is just yet.”
    “Well open it, fool.”
    Ripping off the brown paper on the securely doubly taped bundle, Jamal pulled out a ribbon wrapped silver foil packet labeled in huge, red, elegantly scripted letters, WINNER.
    “Here ‘tis girl. We done won somthin’, ‘cause they done wrapped it up like it was Christmas and put a red ribbon on it.”
    “C’mon man. Stop yo’ jackin’ ‘roun’ and open it. What we won?”
    I’s tryin’ girl. I is tryin’. They put it in so much wrappin’ I’s havin’ trouble getting’ down to the prize.” Using his switch blade, Jamal slit the foil and the ribbon and extracted a sheaf of official looking documents emblazoned with a colorful yellow wax seal and elegant green calligraphy text emblazoned across the title page.
    “Says we won, girl”
    “Damn you, Jamal. What we won? C’mon. Tell me whasup?
    “Say here we won a fishin’ trip.”
    “A fishin’ trip. What you mean, a fishing trip?”
    “Says right here, Takesha, we done won ourselves a luxury three day fishing trip out in the gulf. We is winners. Got that ‘all inclusive’ stuff in here too, says food and drink all furnished and for free. They gonna bring the fishing poles and the bait—no charge and we don’ pay for nothin’. Says we gonna have prime rib, lobster, St. Louis BBQ ribs and soul food chitlins. Free well drinks, beer and all the fixin’s.”
    “We won a trip? A fishin’ trip? That what you say? Don’t need no fishin’ trip. Shee-it. We’s got plenty of fish those people of yours be hoggin’ outa the delta upriver that they be wantin’ to swap for some of those crack rocks you sell.”
    Jamal loved fish. He hated greasy southern fried chicken as much as his wife loved it and he was one half of that “Jack Spratt “couple—the woman who could eat no lean and the husband who could eat no fat. His idea of paradise was the backyard Saturday afternoon boiled Cajun fish, red beans and rice with lots of beer and jive talk. Thin and wiry, he never gained weight on his thin bent frame that was draped in 3X voluminous Hawaiian shirts to mask his bent bullet damaged spine and he wore forties style elevator shoes in a vain attempt to increase his stature. He forsook the standard collection of gold chains and ostentatious emblems of the ordinary drug dealer, trying to assume the innocuous and inconspicuous appearance of a quiet, unassuming next door neighbor.
    “Now Takesha, you know how much I love catfish, honey. I likes it better than them chicken legs you likes so much. I only swapped a couple of crack rocks, that one time, for that big ol’ catfish and I ain’t done it again since.”
    “Jamal, we still got catfish in the freezer from that one time. Don’t need no more fish and I don’t need no fishin’ trip—free or not.”
    “Girl just listen to me. Says it’s a luxury trip—like them white folks from the CBD ‘cross the river take out there on the gulf. Just look at these here pictures of the boat. Says we get a luxury suite with a king bed and a balcony to sit on and drink our Crown Royal. Says they gonna give us well drinks, beer or even sweet tea; whatever we want.”
    “What if’n I get sick out there? I’d probably get seasick and puke up. Never been on one ‘a them big fishin’ boats before.”
    “Takesha, you never been on any boat ‘cept my john boat and that was way upriver. They got pills if you gets seasick.”
    “Jamal, they go clear out there in the ocean. You can’t even see the land they goes so far out.”
    “It’s okay baby. They got a radio and if sumpin’ goes down they got life preservers and a lifeboat. Coast guard come for sure, if need be.”
    “NO. No way Jamal. Ain’t gonna’ do it,” said Takesha obstinately, returning to the kitchen to her now cold fried chicken, grits and red beans and rice still on the kitchen table.
    Takesha, Jamal’s wife had a weight problem in spite of the remonstrations from the Ochsner clinic doctors downtown. She loved fried foods; anything fried—chicken, fish, pork chops, potatoes, hamburgers; anything fried. Her mantra was ‘If it ain’t fried, it ain’t cooked’. The fixin’s, Cajun red beans and rice, grits, mufalatta’s, jambalaya; for it was southern cuisine that helped her to attain her four hundred pounds and seventy pounds; her massive breasts, overhanging belly, love handles and her huge steatopygian-like bottom were monumental testaments to her huge appetite.
    “Says here girl, we even got a cook comin’ along and we can have anything we want to eat. They even say they got room service—means they bring the food right to your room.”
    “You say I don’t have to cook none. Who gonna clean the fish?”
    “They got boys to clean them fish for us. Girl, this is one of those honky, upscale fishin’ trips, I tells you.”
    “Where it say all that? Maybe I go along if’n it says all that and I don’t have to cook.”
    “Right here in this paper. We can’t pass this one up. We’re gonna be rollin’ in high cotton. Says here if we catch a big fish we even get in the contest. Big fish wins ten really big ones; that’s ten grand, girl, and we even get to keep the fish for us’n. We gotta do this one momma.”
    “You know what the preacher say, Jamal, ‘if it sounds too good to be true, probably tis’.”

    “Lemme ask around and see if anyone knows of this Do, a’ comin’ up. Sounds good, but you may be right, it could be a scam. They not askin’ for money though. If it’s a scam, they usually ask for up-front green. I think we got ourselves a deal comin’ up here and we not gonna lose out on it if ‘n I can help it. Always wanted to go out on one of those fishin’ boats like them uptown folks do cross the river.”
    “What all them crack heads gonna do while you’re gone? They sho ‘nuff gonna find another dealer for their crack rocks and your business done be gone by then, baby.”
    “I’ll tell ‘em to use Charles over in Metairie. I’ll say I’m only gonna’ be gone three days. Lemme’ call him and see if he’ll ‘commodate me?” Jamal had Charles on his speed dial and after pushing the appropriate buttons on his cell phone, Charles answered in just seconds.
    “Charles, I be going on a trip for a few days. Need you to cover me with these crazy crack head kids while I’m gone. They gonna’ be needin’ some rock hits, I be gone.”
    Charles was the black and white film negative opposite of Jamal. Tall, coal black, heavy, with a full beard, he was a former NFL linebacker, wore Armani suits, Belgian shoes and a clean white silk shirt every day. A plethora of gold chains, bling, festooned his neck and an amber cat’s eye ring adorned his right pinkie finger. He was the epitome of the successful drug dealer.
    “Jamal, I know you be going on a trip. Fishin’ trip, ain’t it. And how I know? I got me a fish trip letter too. Says gonna be a luxury trip.”
    “That’s it Charles. You done got the same letter—same as mine. Mine says limited to four people. Must be just you and me and the women and I reckon you be bringin’ Lovitha with you, ain’t you?”
    “That’s for sure, Jamal. Not gonna’ leave her here this side o’ the river. There’s no tellin’ what kind o’ mischief she get in if’n I”s gone. Sounds right, ‘bout the trip, Jamal. Who gonna get these crack heads their rocks while we outa’ touch?”
    “Charles, they gonna haf’ta make do, I say. They be back when we start up again. We shut down for days at a time befo’—you know when the man comes round. They know, he come ‘roun’ we gotta’ lay low for a time; special when one it’s one o’ them federal DEA mans come a snoopin’. Them government guys doan come lookin’ much no more. I hear it’s cause you beat ‘em out, Charles, down at the courthouse so many times.
    “Jamal, you had yo’ day in court with them DEA boys and you beat ‘em too. Three times, I hear.”
    “Weren’t me, brother. It was them fancy uptown lawyers and that high flown law talk. Them sharks cost me a bundle but man, they sho’ worth it, Charles. Didn’t do no time neither.”
    “We sure ‘nuff got the locals in our pocket but them guys from DC just won’t touch our sugar, now will they?”
    “Whatever. These kids is hooked good, after only one or two hits on a pipe. Bein’s we so close to the school helps, now don’t it. They’ll find a way to get stuff when we gets scarce. You know that for a fact, now don’t you Charles.”
    “You right brother. Ain’t gonna worry ‘bout ‘em. They be comin’ roun’ when the heat’s off and we gets back.”
    “Well then, I won’t worry none neither.”
    “You gonna go?”
    “Sure am. You too?”
    “See you at the dock on Thursday, brother. Gonna have us a sweet time.”

    By noon, that Thursday, crack heads were beginning their daily trek to Jamal’s place of business—his front porch, looking for their “stuff”; the stuff “that I’ll do anything for,” the stuff to relieve their craving, their need; crack cocaine rocks.
    “Don’t you kids be smokin’ that stuff here on my porch, boy. Get on outa’ here with that pipe. Can’t have the man comin’ round lookin’ to put us colored folk down. If’n he takes me down what cha you gonna’ do for your stuff. Only other dealer I know of is clear over in Metairie—and you know him, Charles, and he goin down next if’n I do; so git on outa’ here, you hear?”
    Nearly a dozen nervous and jittery young people, black and white alike, clutching their grimy, ragged ten dollar bills, congregated on Jamal’s porch, all urgently seeking their crack rocks.
    “Gotta’ announcement, yo’ all, so listen up, hear? Charles and me gonna be gone for the weekend. We be closin’ up till next Monday. We both goin’ on a fishin’ trip, so don’t be comin’ roun’ here whining and sniveling, lookin’ for yo’ hit, you hear?”
    “Fishing trip?” Why you goin’ on a fishin’ trip?”, said one corn rowed customer, his nose red and inflamed, his pinpoint pupil eyes staring anxiously at his dealer, Jamal. “All you need do, man, is see Mr. Robert, upriver and he’ll get you some fine catfish. He hogs ‘em outa’ the delta most every day, I hear.”
    “This is a luxury fishin’ trip like the white folk do, boy. Why you tellin’ me ‘bout fish. Keep you eyes on yo’ own plate, Jim. Just know we ain’t gonna be doin’ business till next week. Get yo’ stuff from some corner dealer if you can find one. Now that’s it, so get on outa’ here.”

*    *    *


    “Takesha, Charles be goin’ with us on the fishing trip. I called him on his cell and he say he’s goin’ too. Ain’t that nice?”
    “Jamal, somethin’ this good is just too good. I’s suspicious.”
    “Takesha, we finally get somethin’ good comin’ down on us and you wanna’ fuck it up. Why you actin’ that way?”
    “I’s just bein’ careful and I think you oughta’ be chary too. Don’t be actin’ the fool when they tell you that you is the lucky one.”
    “You right, girl. Takesha, I’s gonna’ check on the street just one more time. If I don’t hear bad, I’s goin’ on with or without you. Now you hear me?”
    “I hears you. You do your checkin’ and see if it’s all kopaseti.”

    The feelers went out but no one in the hood had heard about the trip; only the pair of crack dealers. Guess we be the lucky ones, Jamal thought to himself as he reassured Takesha.
    “We be goin’ girl. We goin’ upscale. We is movin’ up. We has arrived.”

    Both Jamal and his wife Takesha were undeniably nervous when Thursday arrived. Pacing nervously, up and down on the front porch, Takesha worried about what to take and wear on the trip.
    “What they wear on a fishin’ boat?”
    “Don’t you worry none ‘bout what to wear. Wear them pants you got on now and a big hat. We don’t need no sun abeatin’ down on us. They say in the letter they furnish everythin’. I goin’ just like this. Not gonna’ bring me no heat along, though, Takesha, damn girl, you got me worried ‘bout this trip with all yo’ jabberin’ and talkin’ trash, but no worry ‘bout rivals out there on the water, I figure no need for a piece for protection.”
    “Fine to me, Jamal. But I goin’ just like this then. Hope Lovitha, Charles’ wife, don’t dress up fancy and make me look a fool. That girl thinks she is high end, but she nuthin’ but a high yella’ fancied up ho’.”
    Takesha had reason to have misgivings about Charles’ wife. Lovitha was the personification of the successful drug dealer’s consort. Expensive clinging clothes from the best boutiques, six inch heeled Jimmy Choo shoes, two huge diamond rings on each hand, a surfeit of gold bangles on each wrist. With her over abundant of layers of makeup, Lovitha was the embodiment of an overdressed, jewelry adorned, and conspicuously consuming drug dealer’s spouse.

    “We goin’ in a taxi, momma. No need to leave the caddy down on the dock lot while we gone. Them kids will strip it if we leave it in the lot, so get yo’self together and get on down here. We leavin’. And don’t be worryin’ none on sea sickness. I got some pills to take care of you.” They gonna furnish all the other stuff so get it on, now.”
    “Jamal, I’s tellin’ you just one more time. I get sick out there in the boat I gonna’ have yo’ black ass. Gonna cut you something fierce, I be sick and puke up. Where you get them pills?”
    “Got you covered sista’. Got some pills right chere. That interne doctor from Charity need some crack and he sold me some pills for you if you need ‘em. Gave him two big ones and a couple o’ rocks for these here pills and he say you take one afore you get on the boat. Make you sleepy but that’s all, he tol’ me.”

    At the dock, they saw Charles and his wife Lovitha, standing near the gangplank, the pair decked out in their Sunday best, as Jamal and Takesha got out of the cab, curbside.
    “Hey bro. Glad you could make it. We just got here. Let’s see ‘bout the boat,” Charles said, grasping Jamal’s hand as the two began the complex hand and fist knuckle bumping greeting maneuvers.
    “Why you so dressed up girl friend? Lovitha, don’t you know yo’ gonna smell like fish ‘for we get off o’ this here boat?”, Takesha said, shaking her head, pointedly dissing the overdressed Lovitha.
    Before the woman could reply, a steward, dressed in a plain blue, unmarked uniform with a high collar stepped forward, greeting them with a smile and an outstretched hand.
    “Welcome aboard. We’ve been expecting you. Do come this way, you lucky people. You know there are only the four of you fortunate ones who have won and are taking advantage of this exceptionally generous offer.”
    As they shuffled up the slanted gangplank, holding tightly to the unsteady railings, Takesha looked around questioningly and said, “Where the place we gonna stay?”.
    “Oh you’ll be shown your quarters straightaway. For now, come in to the saloon for some instructions and a talk by the Captain, a welcome drink or two and a chance to ask questions. I’ll take you on a tour of the boat to familiarize you that you feel more comfortable about this craft. As the foursome stepped aboard the yacht, the steward said, “You are now on the fishing deck and those are the fighting chairs for you to sit in when you hook up with a big one. Up there on the fly bridge, we’ve got a whole rack of rigged poles for trolling and bait fishing for you. I will up explain all the rest to you later when I take you on a tour of the boat.”
    “We never been on one of these fancy charter boats a’fore so you gonna hafta’ tell us all about this stuff and how we gonna catch the big ones,” said Jamal.
    “I believe the brochure did tell you about the contest, didn’t it? We have two big burly deck boys inside to help and assist with fishing. They will bait your hooks and even help you land your catch. They’re down below right now but they’ll be up here to lend a hand when we get out to the deeper water. About the contest, the one who catches the biggest bill fish is entered in the greater gulf deep sea fishing contest automatically. The winner gets ten thousand dollars.”
    “Whoo-ee. I can use that kind of green,” said Takesha. “Got some uptown shoes I needs.”
    “Well then, let me say again, welcome aboard. I’m Tim and I’m the chief steward. Your wish is my command while you’re aboard this craft. Just call for Tim and I’ll get what you need. Now do come in to the lounge, have a seat and relax until the Captain comes down from the bridge to welcome you and answer your questions. He’s up there getting us underway and I’m going to get you people some welcome aboard drinks. These special drinks, “Dock Leavin’ Specials” are a tradition aboard this boat and I’m sure you’ll enjoy them. Just visit with each other for a few minutes inside,” Tim said as he turned to the galley.

    “This place kinda fancy I say,” said Charles, as they wandered about the sizeable nautically decorated salon. Luxurious lounge chairs and a wide settee lined two walls. Watercolor paintings of sailing ships, and a stuffed trophy sword fish was mounted on the forward cabin bulkhead over a well stocked wet bar, replete with a plethora of various sized glasses. The back bar, also well stocked in three tiers, displayed a number of expensive and exotic multicolored alcoholic beverages. A huge flat screen TV occupied one corner of the salon playing a BET network show, its RAP background beat pulsating through the multiple sensaround speakers from the four corners of the salon.
    “You right, Jamal, we be in high cotton. Them white folk sure know how to live, now don’t they,” said Lovitha, Charles’ wife. “The brochure say we got private suites with a balcony, a king sized bed, TV, phones and we even got room service. Better ‘n Disney Land I figure.”
    “Anything this fancy that’s free makes me a little chary. How come they choose us? What makes us so special and why a private trip for just the four of us?” Takesha groused, still warily scanning the luxury lounge.
    “Shit, Takesha, you gonna spoil it for us. Just shut yo’ mouth, sit back and wait for the Cap’n. Man say he comin’ down to welcome us and answer yo’ questions.”
    “Listen, Jamal, don’t diss me. I already tol’ you once, I’m gonna have your black ass if I get seasick.”
    “Tol’ you too momma, I got some pills from the hood for if you get sick.”

    Tim, the steward, reappeared in minutes with a tray of tall, colorful, exotic drinks, their rims garlanded with pieces of fruit and paper umbrellas.
    “Here we are folks. These are what we call ‘the Dock Leavers’ Specials, and they are a tradition aboard this boat for our customers, so drink up. They’re pretty potent and might even make the ladies a bit sleepy but I’m sure you’ll like ‘em. Everyone seems to enjoy them.”
    Sampling the offered drinks the foursome agreed that they were indeed intoxicatingly strong as well as flavorsome.
    “He right about strong. My tongue gone asleep already. Makes me yawn, but I like the taste,” said Takesha. Lovitha and the two men agreed with her as Tim refilled their tall glasses, twice and then a third time.
    As they were finishing their third libation, the salon door slowly opened and a tall distinguished looking gray haired, gentleman stepped into the lounge, a maroon cravat at his neck, as he doffed his rakishly crushed captain’s hat. His immaculate, dark blue silk uniform, obviously hand tailored, was set off with a maroon handkerchief in the breast pocket and burnished gold buttons securing the maroon lined coat and with four rows of gold buttons at each cuff. An equivocal bulge on his left hip was evident. Was he “packin” thought the two street-wise drug dealers, as the pair made eye contact glancing at each other, questioningly.
    Nodding to the four guests, smiling, with widespread arms, the picture of an elegant charter boat captain, he boomed, “Welcome aboard, my friends to my fishing charter motor catamaran. Drink up. You have won a wonderful prize, fishing trip. I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourselves. I’ll wager you’ll be saying the event was just too abbreviated before we finish.”
    “Your what? What you say this boat is? A cat?”
    “She’s a cat. A catamaran with two hulls, so she sails flat and so you won’t get seasick,” he explained. “And she’s a fine fishing boat, though we do charters and special event trips on request. We have all the required navigational and nautical safety gear on board and you will be very safe, so enjoy yourselves, as this is one of those special event trips.”
    “Sho’ glad to hear that.” Said Takesha. “Just doan wanna haf to swim back home. Can’t swim anyhow as ‘tis.”
    “Hush, Takesha. Let him talk. That ain’t funny and you knows it.”
    The captain continued, “she’s big, as you can see, and since she’s a cat with two hulls it’s most unlikely she could sink no matter what we might encounter, so don’t you worry about us doing a Titanic. We’ve got two big Yamaha diesels down below and she’s got plenty of fuel. We have all the fishing gear, bait and provisions for a long weekend at sea so I want the four of you to relax and enjoy yourselves these few days. That gentle rumble you hear and the vibrations you can feel is just the engines beginning to put on some rpms as we are leaving the river and are about to head out into the open gulf waters; blue water if you will; deep, placid, blue, very deep and NOAA tells us it’s going to be a quiet weather weekend with lots of sun and no storms. I’ve assigned the four of you to the starboard side cabins on the passenger deck above. We do have two other gentlemen on board, government men, I believe, but they will keep to themselves on the port side of the boat. They’re here just for observation and reporting but they will not be fishing.”
    Still distrustful, Takesha looked at the captain warily as she stood, thrusting her chin out and swinging her hand in a wide sweep around the salon.
    “Why you doin’ all this for us? Why you choose us? What we do to get all this fancy? We pretty much like everyone else in the hood, so why us? Speak up brother. Why us?”
    “First let me offer my sincere welcome to the four of you. I doubt you’ve heard of us but I hope you read in the brochure in your cabin of our facilities, the king sized beds, the verandas just out your cabin door, the room service and the flat screen TVs. I have an idea, no; no, I really hope that the four of you enjoy yourselves on this entirely too short of a trip for it really is going to seem much too brief for the four of you. Right now, we’re headed to the deepest part of the gulf as we have to perform the initial part of our chartering instructions and then some excellent shark fishing should follow. As you can see, if you just look out the aft portholes, by now, we’re pretty far out in the gulf. We report back to the office, at the dock, periodically so that they know that we’re accomplishing what we have been paid to do. This is a two part endeavor. After completing phase one of the trip, we will proceed to the second or fishing phase of the trip.”
    “Who is us? Who you reporting to? Just who are you people?” said Charles.
    “We’re independent contractors, a private charter company. We offer entertainment as well as security services, all over the world. We have been in business for a long time but we are less widely known, though we do have a reputation for doing excellent work, quietly and efficiently with very little fanfare. We’re rather expensive but as you all know, you pay for what you get. We’re costly but we deliver full measure and on time to those who purchase our services.”
    “We can see you do what you say, man, but who hired you and what’s the name of yo’ company. And one more thing, why they choose us? You never did tell us who they are,” said Takesha, now acting high-handedly imperious.
    “One thing at a time my dear, first of all, they, these people, have had their eye on you two, Jamal and Charles, for quite some time. There are ways of monitoring who you are and what you do in the community; in the hood, as it were, very efficiently and quietly as well as somewhat surreptitiously. They have had the pair of you and your wives, under their watchful eyes for more than a year and that’s how and why they chose you. You are a select few in your field, back in the hood, one on each side of the river, here in your chocolate city, who warrant our special attention.”
    “Select few? In what field? What you sayin’ man? I’s a dealer. I’s a drug dealer. I sell crack cocaine rocks to crack head kids. We deal just round the corner from the middle school and doin’ it soft. Everyone know that,” said Jamal.
    “That’s right,” said the captain. “We are well aware of your exceptional success in your entrepreneurial endeavors with the neighborhood children and more importantly in the courts.”
    “Who you say you are? What’s yo’ business? said Charles warily, now more suspicious.
    “We’re the Black Watch company. We’re a lot like Blackwater International, but we’re more discrete and low key. We do some less publicized dark projects requested by various agencies around the world that don’t want their names associated with the outcomes of our endeavors, if you know what I mean.”
    “Blackwater? Ain’t them the guys that got their tits in the wringer over in Iraq?”
    “True, but we are certainly and definitely not Blackwater. We are much more discrete and distinct from that all too well publicized, ill behaved contractor. We’re Black Watch, not Blackwater and we’ve never been reported or accused of any wrong doing and have, as yet, to be involved in any troublesome or critical, sensational headlines.”
    “Well then, if yo’ all is so lily white, who hired you to take us on this fancy trip and why did they contract you just to take us fishin’? Nobody does things like this for nuthin’ so what are you gonna get outa’ this?
    “Oh we have already been well compensated for this endeavor. We’re doing exactly what our sponsor wanted done and we’re doing it quietly with little fanfare and I’m sure the results will please our guarantor. They requested an immediate and concise report when phase one is complete and we are going to deliver what they want.”
    “Who hired you to take us on a fishing trip? I wanna’ know and I wants to know now,” said Jamal, acutely annoyed by the repeated evasiveness of the captain. “Don’t like the way this is goin’.”
    Turning to his companions who now were lazing back sleepily in their lounge chairs, Jamal snapped harshly, “Takesha, Charles, Lovitha. Sit up. Wake up. Pay attention here to what this man sayin’. Why you folks actin’ so sleepy? It’s them drinks they gave us, ain’t it. Yo’ all better be listenin’ to what he’s tellin’ us ‘bout this trip. I truly don’t like much ‘bout what I’m hearin’ here.”

    The captain continued, “I’d rather not say who our sponsor is at this time. Suffice it to say, their identity is not germane to our mission nor to this undertaking. Your repeated not guilty results after several trials are well known to many. You two dealers, in your own way, are indeed famous and well known in the halls of justice. Just take for granted that your accomplishments have prompted an unusual response not entirely within the framework of accepted law enforcement.
    For now, all these accouterments have been paid for and if we accomplish our assignment, a bonus is awaiting us on our return from the gulf. The two men from the government agency on the starboard side of the boat will confirm the completion of our mission before we return to the dock.”
    “What you say? Am I hearin’ you right, bro? You gonna get a bonus for takin’ us fishin’? We’s goin’ fishin’ and someone’s goin’ to pay you for takin’ us fishin’? This trip be costin’ someone a lotta’ green, brother.”
    “Oh we’re going fishing all right. In a few hours we’ll be fishing for sharks; big ones, just as soon as we complete the first part of this project.
    Didn’t you see the name of this boat when you came aboard?
    Her name is CHUMIN’.



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