A Brief History of Seven Killings: A Novel by Marlon James

Author:Marlon James
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781594633942
Publisher: Riverhead Books
Published: 2015-09-08T00:00:00+00:00

Alex Pierce

Do it light, do it through the night. Shit’s gotta work. Cut that fucking song loose goddamn it, what the fuck. Keep this shit up and you’re gonna move, you’re gonna jerk or you’re gonna—I don’t know, I don’t fucking know—it’s going to make him know and you’ll end up a fucking murder scene, chalk line baby dig it, because you woke up with that fucking song shaking its polyester sweating ass in your head. Sooner or later, a cracker’s gotta pay for being the one white man who can move. Right side of my brain’s saying at least you bit it for a greater cause than “Disco Duck.” At least I might be still asleep. I must be. Tapping my fingers one by one against the pillow, four means dream, five means real. One two three four five.

Motherfucker.

But what if I’m dreaming this is real? What if I’m dreaming in a dream? I read somewhere that this is what happens when you die. Freaky shit, Jesus Christ. Breathe slow. Don’t breathe at all. No, breathe slow. Stop breathing. No, he will feel it, he will know you’re not asleep. I know what this is. I mean, gotta be, man, you’re just tripping off bad shit. You’re just crashing hard off bad shit, this is what you get for hitting C anywhere but 42nd and 8th, that’s where the steerer on 41st and 5th sent me. But hold up, I’m not tripping. I never trip in Jamaica. Jamaica is a trip all by itself, and Jesus Christ stop thinking so hard. Keep this shit up and you’ll start to think out loud—have I said anything? Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, Jeezuzchriiiiiist, stop it, stop it, fucking stop it, Alex Pierce. Chill out right now, chill the F.U.C.K. out. Close your eyes and try to catch up to that dream that got away from you, go off and catch that dream, and when you wake up there will be no man sitting on the edge of your bed. Better yet, there will be no man opening your door, walking in just as you’re waking up, because you never really went to sleep and couldn’t really sleep on this torture-chamber bed. No man walking in, going over to the window to pull in the drapes, reaching in his shirt for—don’t look, don’t fucking look, and sitting on your bed. No series of clicks and clacks and ticks and locks. Close your eyes. Simple as that, this will work, THIS WILL WORK.

I am at the Skyline hotel. I got in two days ago, though I’ve been in Kingston five months and Jamaica for eight. Eight months since Lynn gave me an ultimatum, Jamaica or her. Fucking woman, I didn’t expect her to understand my work but I at least hoped for some respect for what I had to do. It’s not that she didn’t like it. Hell, I could have dealt with her hating it. Hating it at least is something. But she

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