“Dees be Anthurium seed. Nice flower. Some people call it dah boy flower, cuz dah stem look like juss like a little boy’s you-know-what. Hah ha haah!” Mr. Bones pushed his lower lip out with his tongue as he laughed.
“Mr. Bones… I, I didn’t come here to buy weed.”
“Hey, dat fine, dat fine din. You jus come visit or show me some more of your paintins. That good, my frienh. In one minute, I shoow you ‘round my ‘ouse. Dis ‘ouse be ‘ere seventy year. I live in id ten year now. You should ‘ave seen it when I buy id. Mannn! Big fire burn it out. Inside be all black and crusty, and I start scrappin. Scrappin and cleanin. I even ‘ave to cut weeds out from inside id. And dis garden, I do all myself. Everybody dink I like ‘angin out at dose night club, but I doonh go dere much now. I tell you secret. Dis place right ‘ere,” he said while looking around. “Dis place my favorite. I like watchin dings, my flowers, my plants. Watchin what change. Every day I see dings growin and blossomin. Look juss like magic to me.” He pinched open the pack of seeds and shook it to see how many were left.
“Mr. Bones, I need your help. I did something very bad.” Edward tried to control his breathing. It felt like he was about to start hyperventilating through his mouth.
“Yeah? What you do so bad out dere on dat island? Burn your ‘ouse down? Hah hah haaa! Man, what you do? You tell me.” Mr. Bones picked up the half egg carton and examined his work, smiling like a parent waiting for a child to tell a story.
“There’re some men. Three. They go around in a red cigar boat. Four-engine. They have a hidden shack on the island in front of my house. I know they stop there sometimes. I’ve been there. I’ve seen them stop there before. This morning, I swam over there and I - I found what they hide there – they hide drugs. I moved their drugs – hid them. They came back. Saw someone stole their drugs. My girlfriend came by in her boat. Drove by the island and they took her – they took her, thinking she did something. They think she took their drugs – they took her and I don’t know what to do. You must know these men – Mr. Bones, you gotta help me contact them, tell them I got their stuff, tell them Mary had nothing to do with it.”
Mr. Bones looked up at Edward. The smile on his face thawed into a sneer. He put down his seeding pots, holding his long fingers open over it as if to pick it back up, looking at his work before turning to Edward, the look of disgust obvious across his face.
“Why you do some-ding stupid like dat?”
“I – I was just messin around—”
“You take dah man’s shit and din dah man take your girl. Dat messin round? Ooh, I doonh call dat messin round. I call dat suicide.” Mr. Bones studied Edward. His eyes – his whole face growing hard and piercing. “Yeah, id be true I know some-ding bout dem men. I know dey Columbian. I know dey hide coke on some places. Den dey go see if dah way clear. Dey go up and see where all dah police boot be at. Drive around, get in front of some of dem police boot. If police stop ‘em, give ‘em a look-over, dey like dat. Once dem police give deir boot a good look-over, dey know it all clear. Clear sailin. Home free. No police patrol gonna give ‘em a look-over two time in one day. Dey do dat—”
“So, you can talk to them—”
“Talk?” Mr. Bone’s tone had lost all its friendliness. “You wanna say what? How you took deir shit for juss messin round? Dose men lose dah drugs, what you dink deir boss gonna do to ‘em, huh? Fire ‘em? Noooo. Dey doonh get fired, man. Dey get buried.”
Mr. Bones tapped his egg carton of seeds with an index finger and shook his head.
“So, now tell me. What you dink dose men do wid someone messin wid dere shit? Huh? Dey laugh id away? Or you dink dey juss say dat OK, we know you juss messin around? Nooo. What dey do is dey cut ‘em up and drop dah body parts into dat sea. Long time ago, I ‘ave one frienh take some shit from dem Columbian. He try sellin what he stole. Comida de tiburones. You know what dat mean? Dat mean shark food. Dat what dem Columbian call people who get in deir way and mess wid deir shit.”
Edward could feel his face redden as he lost his breath. His eyes watered. He forced himself to breathe through his nose, pressing his lips tight. When he did this his lips shivered. Mr. Bones saw this and stopped shaking his head.
“Who your girlfriend?”
“Mary, Mary Read.”
“Mary Read? I doonh know her.” He shook his head. “She from ‘ere?”
“Yes. She’s from BVI. Works at the library.”
Mr. Bones grunted. “Well, dat one place I never go.” He turned and looked at his house. “You stupid, boy. Very stupid. Man, I got only two rule I ‘ave to live by.” He held up two fingers in front of Edward’s face. “And number one rule is dis, doonh fuck wid no drug runner.”
“Mr. Bones, you have to help me,” Edward said in a harsh whisper, his heart racing. “You’ve got to call them.” His head shook as he rose from the bench. He leaned on the table with one hand and waved the other around like he was in a debate class. “I know I fucked up, I do. But you can clear this all up if you just call them and say you know where their drugs are. You gotta help—”
Edward reached out to touch Mr. Bone’s hand, but the man jerked it away.
“Boy, I doonh ‘ave to do shit! So, doonh be tellin me any-ding ‘bout what I ‘ave to do. I might be or I might not ‘ave interest in ‘elpin you out. But dis your problem. You make dat choice, and now you ‘ave to pay dah price. Now, step back and sit down, or Barry show you out. You ‘earin me? Sit your ass down.”
Mr. Bones was about the same age as Edward’s father, but that was all those two men had in common. He had grown up in the poorest neighborhoods the BVI had to offer and probably hadn’t graduated high school. He was from a different world and yet, his words and tone and expression of disappointment were so familiar, like the speech his father had delivered right after graduation about working hard and staying out of trouble. It was clear Mr. Bones had wanted to like him, but now he sat there in his white panama, shaking his head. Mr. Bones grunted and looked up. He drummed his fingers on the table, staring off at the top of one of the palms.
“Four year back, I plant two apple tree over dere. My farmer frienh say I’m crazy, but I order two mature apple tree and plant dem right dere in dat corner. Well, dim tree die. Yeah. Before maybe two year dey die. I ask my farmer frienh why I can’t grow dose apple tree, you know. Is it cuz it too hot? He say, Nooo. Not too hot. Dey jus need dah winter. Dey need dat time when dose leaves dyin. Yeah, some plant can’t take dah lack of season ‘ere. Dey need dat change, just like some people can’t take no easy life.”
Mr. Bones looked down at his half carton of soil. He picked it up and leaned back to set it down next to two other filled half cartons on the stone step bordering the sitting area. He slapped his hands together, brushing the soil from them before standing up. He faced the house for a minute, as if breathing in the scents of the flowers around him. Then he turned his head halfway to where Edward sat.
“I ’ave some note paper in dah kitchen. You write down your telephoon number. Din you go ‘ome. Din you doonh go anywhere. Only ding you do is wait. You understandin me, boy? You wait. You doonh be goin no place. You doonh talk to nobody. Den, I do what I do and we try to fix dings.”
After Edward left the mansion, he ran down the hill so fast that he almost tripped on the gravel. He rested where the road widened, looking back up as if he would see the man who could sweep up his mess waving at him. But Edward could not see the house through the jungle hedge. He fast-walked through the neighborhoods, thinking about the questions Mr. Bones had asked him in his kitchen. While Mr. Bones was washing his hands, he asked about the weight and size of the packages, pushing Edward for details. He hadn’t made eye contact when he asked these questions, instead looking out the window over the sink. Of course Mr. Bones wanted something, Edward told himself, but it didn’t matter. Whatever Mr. Bones wanted, he could have if he got Mary back.