Part 2, Chapter 10, of RFV.

                     TEN

 

    The execution party was in full swing when they arrived back. Despite the fact that Roger had only been away a couple of hours, already most everyone was half-drunk and or stoned.

    Reggae boomed out from one section of the crowd and lots of people were up dancing. In another area, folks were just hanging around, drinking and smoking and yacking.

    Big Lucas was standing chatting with the Uhuruland Baptist Choir, Low Hummin Section. They had been warned about their behaviour though �" they could hum and wobble a bit but if they got out of hand they would wind up as part of the foundations of the Uhuruland Spiritual Centre and Take Away which was soon to be built.

    As the red sports car pulled up, Big Lucas strolled over to meet them. Hub Cap and Clarence slid out. Roger floated out.

    “Hi,” Big Lucas said to him.

    “As a kite,” Roger admitted and grinned.

    “Wot you bin givin the wite boy?” Big Lucas asked Hub Cap.

    “Oh, just some weed, Boss,” Hub Cap replied. “Numb him up for the execution.”

    Big Lucas nodded. “Okay but no more. He looks like he floatin up to the angels already.”

    Hub Cap grinned. He strolled closer to Big Lucas. “Talkin bout the execution,” he whispered. “Wants me an Clarence hea to take care of the body afta it? You knows �" bury it?”

    Big Lucas considered this. “Good idea,” he agreed. “Saves me the trouble organisin it.” He grinned then turned and waved over to one of the buxom Baptist Choir ladies. “Anyways, Ah’s got ma eye on one o the sistas in the Choir!” he admitted.

    Hub Cap laughed then permitted himself to jab the Dear Leader in the chest. “Horny! Horny! Horny!” he reprimanded.

    Big Lucas threw back his large head and laughed largely. Hub Cap grinned then slapped palms with him. Roger, meantime, was staring up at the sky at something pretty amazing that was going on inside his head.

    “So, wite boy,” Big Lucas said, nudging him, “wot you bin thinkin o Uhuruland?”

    Roger dragged his eyes back from the sky. “Well, yeah, it’s,” he began, “it’s, pretty…ah…pretty…uh…pretty!” he finished and giggled.

    “Serious, wite boy, wot you thinkin o ma kingdom?”

    “Uh, not enough white people,” Roger volunteered.

    Big Lucas laughed. “Correct, wite boy! An rite soon, there won’t be none!” He turned to the crowd. “Where’s ma SAS Guards!?” he bellowed.

    The Captain of Big Lucas’ elite Special Arse Section sashayed up to them. He was an impressive sight �" over six feet tall, studded black leather uniform, black leather boots and black leather gloves.

    “No need t’ be roarin, Big L,” he minced at Big Lucas, licking a gloved pinkie and tucking an imagined stray wisp of hair back under his black leather cap.

    “Git this boy up to the Execution Post,” Big Lucas ordered.

    The Captain ran an approving eye over Roger. “My my, wot a lovely wite boy,” he said admiringly. “Do we has t’ kill him?”

    “Course we’s x’in him! Git him up to the Post. Now!”

    “Oh alrite, Big L,” the Captain said huffily. “Now whea’s ma Privates?” He turned to the crowd. “Privates! Coo-ee, Privates!” he called.

    The nearest section of the crowd responded mockingly to this. Some of the cruder youths dropped their trousers and waved their members at him. Roger sniggered.

    “Oh my!” muttered the Captain. “So much meat on display it lookin like a sausage shop!”

    The two Privates appeared from the crowd and made their way up to them.

    Hub Cap strolled over to Roger. “Well I best say goodbye, bro,” he said and they shook hands. “Nice showing you round.” He winked so Big Lucas couldn’t see.

    “Yeah, uh thanks, Hub Cap,” the stoned one muttered, winking back.

    Hub Cap and Clarence strolled off as the two Privates, Ruff Trade and KY appeared. They were both dressed in the same outfit as the Captain except that Ruff Trade was wearing a dream of a jumper �" it was all light pinks and light blues and in the centre was a hand-embroidered beaver with a red diagonal line through it. The two of them ran their eyes appreciatively over the bemused Roger.

    “Oh, mine tonite, mine tonite!” Ruff Trade muttered, fluttering his eyelids at him.

    “Well, hark at the pushy one!” KY minced, twitching his head.

    “Come on, Privates, take this lovely boy up t’ the Execution Post,” ordered the Captain.

    “Oh hark at the wicked witch!” said Ruff Trade. “An jus check out his finganails.”

    The Captain smiled and fanned out his fingers.

    “Wot colour is that, lovey?” KY asked.

    “Mornin Sun Pink,” the Captain told him.

    “Git him to the f****n Post!!” bellowed Big Lucas.

    “Oh come on,” Ruff Trade said huffily, “Big Lucas got the curse.”

    “B***h!” said KY.

    Ruff Trade and KY took an elbow each and began leading the dreamy Roger away.

    As they approached, the crowd slowly parted and to Roger, it reminded him of that biblical story where Jesus parted the Black Sea…or was it the Green Sea? Anyways, the sea parted all the way up and there at the end stood the Execution Post. It was a simple affair. Just a lone smoothed timber which had been planted in the ground.

    ‘Maybe it should have a ‘FOR SALE’ sign on it!’ thought Roger and sniggered.

    “My, my, in a good mood, aren’t we, consid’rin we’s about to be executed?” remarked KY.

    Roger smiled at him. KY fluttered his eyelashes at him in return.

    The stoned one, who had completely forgotten about his impending execution, grinned and nodded at everyone as they strolled along. ‘Such wonderful friendly people’, he thought, glancing at the crowd. ‘Look at them all smiling at me!’

    “You fo the x’in, wite boy!” somebody yelled at him.

    Roger frowned. “X’in?” he muttered. “Wonder what that means?” Then he thought it meant he was possibly going back to The Soft-Hearted W****s Club for another session with Scabby Sue. “Yes, I’m looking forward to it,” he admitted.

    The crowd hee-hawed and slapped palms.

    “Witey lookin forward to getting x’d!” said someone.

    “We’s lookin forward to it as well!” yelled another.

    Roger nodded amiably. “Nice to have something to look forward to,” he remarked.

    Just then Scabby Sue hove into view. She was wearing Roger’s floral smoking jacket which he had given her as a gift. She strolled forward and gave him a hug. “Shua gonna miss you, wite boy,” she purred.

    “See you soon,” Roger replied.

    “See you soon!?” someone mocked. “Maybe he thinkin he gonna git off befoa he gits offed!”

    The crowd fell about at that one.   

    As they neared the execution post, Big Lucas, who was strolling a short distance behind them, called out. “Hey, Private, this boy about to be executed. Git that crazy jumper off!”

    Ruff Trade huffily took off his jumper and tossed it into the front row of the crowd.

    It was caught by one of two old ladies who were seated in the front row. Whilst the rest of the crowd had been getting wasted, Goita and Lilly had taken their seats early to get a good view, as they always did at executions and passed their time knitting.

    Goita held up the jumper. She and Lilly examined it.

    “Wot’s that animal in the middle?” a puzzled Goita asked.

    “Hmm, lookin like a beaver t’me,” Lilly replied.

    “But it got a red line through it, see?”

    “Oh yeah,” agreed Lilly. “Maybe that Private poof don’t like beavers.”

    “But beavers is lovely,” said Goita. “All soft an furry.”

    “Programmes! Programmes! Git you Execution Programme!” called a vendor who was weaving amongst the crowd.

    “Git us a Programme, will ya honey? Ma leg shua playin me up,” said Goita. She held up her leg where a lump the size of a baseball was growing from her knee.

    “You wants t’get that seein to,” Lilly told her.

    “Oh it’s nothin,” said Goita. “Anyways, it gives Leroy the horn!”

    They both cackled over the kinkiness of husbands then Lilly called the vendor over.

    “Any knittin patterns in the Programme?” she asked.

    “Hey man, this a Execution Programme. It aint’s a wimmins magazine,” he replied.

    “Well Ah like it when they got patterns in them.”

    “Look man, you buyin a Programme or aint ya?”

    “Oh, give us two,” said Lilly, “an don’t call me ‘man’,”

    “Here y’are,” the vendor said, handing over the Programmes and taking the money. “Have a nice execution.”

    Goita glanced through the programme. “Don’t see much in it,” she complained. “No patterns. No recipes.”

    “Hell, theys nothin,” Lilly echoed. “Jus the one execution. Don’t know why Ah buys these tings.”

    “Sheet!” said Goita. “Ah likes it when there’s a whole bunch gittin executed! Like when Big Lucas executed all them from Save the Chillun!”

    Lilly cackled. “Ah rememba! We managed t’knit a whole pullova each that night!”

    “An the Programme was so much betta. It had recipes an patterns in it.”

    Lilly nodded. “Recipes an patterns,” she agreed.

    “Oh look,” said Goita, pointing, “them poofs are tyin that po wite boy t’ the Post.”

    And indeed they were.

    Ruff Trade and KY had positioned Roger by the Post, facing the crowd and had taken a hand each and ceremoniously tied them together behind it.

    “Oh, imagine if it was just us an him,” Ruff Trade muttered. “Him all tied up like.”

    “Stop it!” KY said hoarsely. “Ma knees is turning t’ water jus thinkin bout it.”

    Roger meantime had become slightly weed-drowsy and leaned back with his head against the Post, eyes closed, a dreamy smile on his face. Perhaps thinking of Scabby Sue.

    Ruff Trade and KY minced off and Big Lucas turned to the crowd. The Uhuruland Baptist Choir, Low Hummin Section, wobbled up and arranged themselves in a neat semi-circle around the Execution Post and waited for Big Lucas’ nod to begin humming.

    “Okay bruthas an sistas, quiet!” boomed Big Lucas.

    The crowd ignored him and the noise continued.

    Big Lucas got angry. He pulled his silver pistol from its holster, cocked it and fired a shot into the air.

    The crowd ignored him and the noise continued.

    Big Lucas got angrier. He took careful aim on one of the noisiest revellers and shot him. The guy screamed and fell.

    The crowd paid attention. The noise died down.

    “Ah said QUIET!!” boomed Big Lucas.

    The crowd obeyed. Someone flicked off the reggae and silence fell.

    Big Lucas nodded in satisfaction. He let the silence continue awhile. “Everybody bowin they heads,” he ordered eventually. “That is, if they still wants them attached to they bodies.”

    Instantly, all heads bowed.

    Roger kind of came-to at that point. He glanced round at all the bowed heads in the crowd. ‘Looks like everybody dropped something at once,’ he thought and sniggered.

    Big Lucas turned and nodded to the Choir and they began a low humming and wobble.

    “Oh mighty Lawd o the entire Universe,” intoned Big Lucas, “we sayin a few words for the departin honky.”

    Roger frowned. ‘Wonder who’s leaving?’ he thought.

    “Fo thousands o years,” went on Preacher Lucas, “the black man was unda witey’s boot. Now tings has changed. This the black man’s world now an we keepin it that way.”

    The low humming behind him became more soulful.

    “As much as Ah don’t like killin folks unless they gets on ma tits,” carried on Preacher Lucas, “this wite boy has t’ go. So we keeps this the black man’s world.”

    The low humming started to rise but Preacher Lucas turned and glared at the Choir and the humming immediately lowered.

    “So we commendin witey’s body to the deep,” went on Preacher Lucas, remembering a film he’d seen where people got buried at sea, “an ashes to ashes, an dust to dust,” he went on, returning to burial on dry land. “Ay-men!”

    “Ay-men!!” echoed the crowd and relieved that the religious s**t was over, they all looked up and started muttering to each other.

    The Choir stopped humming and wobbled back towards the crowd, one of the buxom members fluttering her eyes at Preacher Lucas, who grinned and winked. Obviously no vow of chastity with this Preacher.

    The mutterings amongst the crowd were once again silenced however, this time by a dramatic drum roll.

    As they all glanced down the Black/Green Sea parting, Teacha strolled into view. Hub Cap’s girl-to-be was dressed in black and she had a drum slung over her shoulder. She began tapping out a slow beat and keeping time with it, started marching up to the Execution Post.

    Behind her came Uhuruland’s official Executioner, who just happened to be her father. He was a kindly-looking grey-haired man, an ex-teacher, who preferred pottering about in his greenhouse with teenage girls but he was the best shot on Uhuruland and Big Lucas had ‘persuaded’ him to be the Executioner.

    The crowd cheered and whistled when they saw him and he grinned and waved back. About twenty feet from the Execution Post, a white line had been painted on the grass and Teacha halted at it.

    The Executioner strolled up to her then turned and snapped his fingers. The two urchins who had been carrying his equipment marched up and proceeded to set up his old fashioned hunting rifle on a stand with a seat behind it. This brought more cheering from the crowd.

    Roger, meantime, had stopped thinking about Scabby Sue and was staring in puzzlement at the goings-on. ‘Why are they setting up an old-fashioned rifle?’ he wondered.

    The rifle now set up, the Executioner took his seat behind it and began sighting it in. On Roger. A murmur of anticipation ran through the crowd.

    At the same time, a murmur of fear ran through Roger. His pleasant drowsy weed-haze gave way to weed-paranoia and Hysteria grinned and strolled back into his head.

    Having finished his sighting, the Executioner looked up to Big Lucas and nodded.

    Big Lucas turned to Roger. “Any last words, witey?” he asked.

    “Well…ah…yes,” stammered Roger. “Why is that, er, rifle, ah, pointing at me?”

    Muted sniggering from the crowd.

    “Cos you’s about t’ be executed,” Big Lucas told him casually.

    “Me!? Executed!!??” the paranoid one jabbered, as Hysteria flooded his mind with fear. “But…but…but why?”

    Big Lucas glanced at the Executioner and nodded. Teacha struck up a dramatic drum roll and Big Lucas strolled down to them.

    Hysteria was now in control of Roger’s head and it made sure he had totally forgotten about the fact that Hub Cap had fixed the execution for him. All he could see was a rifle pointing at him and a man with his finger on the trigger.

    The dramatic drum roll halted. The crowd fell silent. The Executioner waited.

    “Fire!!” ordered Big Lucas.

    The Executioner pulled the trigger and the shot rang out. Roger was thrown backwards against the Post then slowly slid down it, a crimson stain spreading on his Fleet Pilot’s uniform, over his heart.