Jamaican Karma Read online

  Jamaican Karma

  Mongo Files Case #1

  T S Paul

  Copyright © 2019 by T S Paul

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The Federal Witch Universe and Mongo Case Files (and what happens within/characters/situations/worlds) are Copyright (c) 2016-2019 by T S Paul and Great God Pan Publishing

  Special thanks to my wife Heather who keeps me grounded and to Merlin the Cat. We are his minions.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Author Notes

  Also By T S Paul

  Chapter 1

  “Hey, mon, you need to help me.”

  I’d just taken a booth full of orders when my buddy Winston appeared behind me dressed in his usual outfit of pot covered sweat pants and a Hawaiian shirt. His hat proclaiming the Rastafarians Ruled. “Dude, I’m working here.”

  Winston and I went to school together back in the day. That was before I went to the FBI Academy and screwed my life all up.

  “You have skills that I need mon. Please…” Winston trailed off as I edged around him heading towards the kitchen.

  Looking over my shoulder, I could see him just standing there, moping. Shaking my head, I wrote up the new table's order and passed it off to my dad in the kitchen.

  “Son, tell your wackado friend to sit and order or get the hell out,” Dad’s voice resounded from behind the tall kitchen counter. “This is a place of business not a bus station.”

  Giving Winston the high sign I pointed him toward the last booth in the corner. It was where I did my studying and business meetings. “Sit. Stay. Let me finish up my job here.”

  Writing up a quick order I handed it to Dad even as he gave me the food for paying customers, “If he doesn’t eat it, I will. Don’t worry about it dad.”

  “You’re paying for it, regardless.” He growled at me.

  “Sure,” I felt a bit like pounding my head against the wall. I worked here because I was family and didn’t have a choice. Especially if I wanted to eat and have a place to sleep. Very little was free in my life. Just part of Dad’s lessons as he liked to say. It was bad enough that the only money I earned here was tips.

  Passing out the food I thanked my customers and then slid into the booth across from Winston. “What is it?”

  “You’ve got to help me find it, mon. Hina’s going to kill me if you don’t!” Winston blurted out his usually strong accent slipping a bit. “I can’t believe I wasn’t paying attention to things.”

  “Dude you’re going to have to fill in some things here…” I started to say even as Dad hit the pick-up bell.

  Ding

  “Hold that thought for a moment,” I said as I slid out of the booth. Checking on my paying customers first I refilled several drinks.

  Several moments later I slid a basket of Jamaican jerk chicken fingers into the middle of the table. “Help yourself I got plenty.”

  Winston squinted at the basket and then at me with a look of disgust on his face. Opening his mouth, he spoke the first truly American words I’d ever heard from him in more than ten years with no discernible accent. “Ugh. Who eats that stuff?”

  Raising one eyebrow I could only stare at my supposed friend, “All this time? You’ve been faking it all this time?”

  Winston looked away from me, “Not completely.”

  “Spill,” I ordered.

  “It’s like this. Do you remember the first day of Junior high?” Winston asked, looking me in the eyes.

  I closed one eye and sort of smiled at him. “Vaguely. It was a long time ago dude.”

  Winston spread his hands wide. “Just listen. I was the new guy. Fresh off the road from Pittsburgh. Dad was working out at the Redstone Arsenal and I knew nobody in this fresh hell called Madison, Alabama. Back home, I was the go-to guy for all things weed and fun. My connections were gone and so were all my homies. But, my best boy back home was Jamaican, and he’d been talking the talk with me for years. You hicks down here didn’t know the difference between Pot life and actual Jamaican threads, so I took a chance and put on a show. I just didn’t plan for it to go on this long.”

  “Is that why we never, ever went to your house? You told me your mom had a skin condition and your dad hated white people! Dude, you are in so much trouble with me now,” I half laughed half shouted at him.

  Winston chuckled, “It really surprised me that everyone fell for it. I kept my grades up so the ‘rents never had to visit the school and any sort of PTA or other nonsense I tore up. Having to listen to Reggae all the time sort of sucked, but it all worked out.”

  Now I was laughing.“You dragged all of us to that concert in Atlanta that summer. Do you remember? I wondered why that vendor looked at you like you were from Mars. You didn’t understand him at all did you?”

  “No, I didn’t. Isaac, the dude back home, told me later that while everyone understands English they speak something called patois, a mix of West-African and Creole. There are some English words in it, but for the most part it’s another language,” he explained.

  Looking over my shoulder, I spotted by table of customers looking around. “Hold that though. I’ll be right back.”

  Even as I thanked the table and cashed them out I thought about Winston and the whole high school experience. I could understand not fitting in, but to actually fake a whole persona for more than ten years? That was sheer insanity. We’d moved here from Russia when I was a kid. Dad worked his ass off slinging hash and making sandwiches until he could afford to start up his own place. Huntsville is a huge military town. This was where NASA got its start and where they built the majority of the International Space Station. People around here, rednecks included, were used to strange folks from foreign lands. That didn’t even include the fact that we were WerePolarBears. How many kids went to school with bright white dreadlocks?

  Dropping the dishes off at my station, I went back to the booth. The lunch rush was over for the most part here at Bear Naked BBQ. Dad usually took this time to check the smoker and dive into making up more sides and things. Sometimes my mom would come down and make up large trays of her semi-famous peach cobbler.

  “You didn’t have to put on an act. Our class was pretty out there to begin with. It’s pretty crazy when the white-haired kid isn’t the strange one,” I exclaimed.

  “I realized that after the first week, but by then I was too scared to fess up. You remember how kids were in those days. Everyone would’ve laughed at me,” Winston stated. “It was far easier to just keep it up.”

  “You had me mostly fooled, so what’s the big thing you need now?” I asked him.

  “Someone stole Hina’s tiki from us,” he said.

  Cocking my head to one side I smiled. “Is that something sexual, because it sounds like it.”

  “No way mon! Hina’s my girl and the tiki is a sacred family heirloom her dad gave her,” Winston snapped at me. “... the hells the matter with you, anyway?”

  I just looked at him and smiled. “You’re still doing it.”

  Winston rolled his eyes and looked skyward as if speaking to the heavens. Not something all that unusual around here or anywhere in the south. “It takes me time is all. Switching from one to the other is a pain.”

 
; “Does Hina and your folks know about it? The accent not the tiki.” I asked him.

  “Yes. They all give me three kinds of hell for it but after so long it’s really hard to stop. I’ve gotten some pretty cool ethnic holidays out of it at work too,” Winston explained with a frown.

  “Wally World didn’t catch on? A company that big has to have actual Jamaicans working for them. You’d think they would know you were yanking their chain.”

  If I remember correctly, he was a sales manager for their tire store. Tires were a big deal in this area. Just about everyone drove some kind of truck.

  “I’ve got excellent Jamaican karma when it comes to that,” he replied.

  “Be careful bragging like that though. That sort of luck can bite you in the ass. So, the tiki. What is it and how did you lose it?” I asked him.

  Chapter 2

  “Hina’s Hawaiian and her dad, Hanalei, is a bit of a traditionalist,” Winston started. Grabbing the soda in front of him he took a sip. “I wasn’t on his hit parade when we first hooked up. Hina loves me, her family not so much. At least in the beginning. She was supposed to marry this big shot Hakka performer, but he’s a douche and she hates him.”

  Looking at him a bit cross-eyed I could only nod.

  “So, she dumped him and we got friendly. She hates the accent but loves me anyway. Her dad warmed up to me a bit after he saw I had a job and really wanted to support Hina.” Winston looked down at the table for a moment. “None of that matters though. He entrusted us with the tiki and we lost it. Being cursed is the least of our problems now!”

  “Cursed? This tiki thing is cursed?”

  “That’s what Hina’s dad told us. He said if it were to leave the family then woe be to the one who lost it,” Winston replied with a frown.

  “What about the one who stole it or even say just picked it up? What happens to them? If I’m going to search for the thing I need to know the dangers here. Is it radioactive or something?” That’s all I needed was finding literally hot merchandise.

  “As far as I know, if you have good intentions you’re safe from the Gods’ wrath. Hina’s parents are the ones you really need to ask about this stuff, but because I lost it, I can’t. You see where I’m coming from man?” Winston whined at me. He was almost in tears.

  “Dude this chick… You’re this serious about her?” In school he’d been a major player not wanting to be tied down at all by women.

  “This is the one. She’s all I live for now Mongo,” Winston answered.

  “Wow. Good for you man. I’ll do it, but not for free,” I held up my hands to try to slow down his protests. “Let me tell you something before we start dickering here. All this around us? Dad doesn’t pay me squat to work here. I get room and board at home and maybe a snack here. That chicken you don’t like right there,” I pointed to the cold basket in front of us. “I paid full price for that.”

  Winston squinted at me. “Seriously? Dude I’ve been to your house, and it’s pretty nice. Room and board would be cool. Your mom’s a great cook!”

  I shook my head. “No. They turned my room into a craft room the day after I went to the FBI Academy. Dad put in special shelves and cabinets to hold all of mom’s yarn, cloth, paper, and other supplies. She joined all these crafter groups that come over and spend all day in there now. I’m out in the garage with the cars.”

  “That’s a pretty big space too. I could see you making it into a cool pad,” Winston exclaimed.

  Bending forward, I touched the table with my forehead. My chuckles made everything vibrate. Still laughing, I looked up at my friend. “He left the cars in the place. I’ve got a cot and a basket for clothes between the Buick and the El Camino. My cot’s just low enough so the door doesn’t clip me in the morning. The only reason he doesn’t charge me for food is my mom. She won’t allow him to punish me more than that.”

  “For real? What did you do that was so bad?” Winston asked me. He’d met my parents before after all and normally they were two of the nicest being on the planet.

  “Screw up my life for one. I quit the FBI just before they could fire me. It was bad, so very bad, and I did it all to myself. I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, listen to my friends or my family. It was that bad,” I started to explain. It was so very hard to tell my story to others. Since I’d come home, this was the first time I’d even tried to tell the whole unaltered truth to anyone. It might as well be Winston.

  “Where to start… Junior high graduation. Remember all the big plans we made for that summer? Our little gang of hoodlums were going to make our mark in Huntsville. For me that got shot to shit when I got busted hot-wiring a car one night behind that barbecue place off highway seventy-two. I thought I was so smart to steal a car from one of my dad’s competitor’s customers. Something is wrong with kids at that age, we think we’re invincible or something. This time he didn’t help me. Dad let it go all the way to the judge.” I paused. Winston might not have noticed it but the noise from the kitchen had stopped completely. “It was rough. I was faced with actual jail time or something else much worse. If I’d been older, they would have shipped me off to the Army’s Bear battalion in a heartbeat. To the local mundanes, it didn’t matter I was a polar bear. I was big for my age, but still only fourteen. My option was five years of government service or the FBI Academy. The paranormal one in Virginia, not California.”

  “That sounds a bit harsh. We all thought you got sent to military school, that’s what your dad told everyone!” Winston remarked.

  “As if. I can see him saying that though. They were ashamed of me, I’d betrayed their trust. Of the two choices I took the FBI one. Virginia didn’t sound all that bad.” I blinked a few times remembering my first year and all the terror of a new place. The trip my family took from Russia across the Sea of Japan in a small boat wasn’t as scary as the Academy was to me. I was far too young to remember all the details of the boat ride. But being alone, in a strange place surrounded by those I thought were the enemy was frightening to me.

  Winston snorted. “I can’t see you as a cop much less an FBI Agent.”

  “The Academy wasn’t what I was expecting. Five years was the commitment I signed on for. Four years of training with at least a year of work was the standard. After that there were supposed to be options. But I’m getting ahead of myself. First years at the Academy don’t have a lot of freedom. It’s only in your second year they let you go into town. Kind of like that Wizard War movie. Trust me when I say there isn’t a candy store in Quantico and kids aren’t allowed in any bars. We’re supposed to complete the entire high school curriculum in two years or less. The last two years are all law enforcement coursework. Or at least it’s supposed to be,” pausing I looked my old friend in the eyes. “I’m a bear. The FBI doesn’t get too many of my kind, so I had just a bit more leeway than some of the others. You know me, getting into trouble was sort of my specialty back then.”

  “What did you do?” Winston asked me.

  “Find the same sort of connections I had here. Drugs, drink, banned material, anything and everything anyone might need I found for them. It was a game and one that I was really good at. Finding the lost for those that needed it. At least until I met Chuck and his gang. They straightened me out a bit,” I replied.

  “They beat YOU up? Were they giants or something?” Winston looked shocked.

  I laughed at his expression and shook my head. “Nothing like that. Chuck was a bit like me someone with very few choices in life. His dad wasn’t high enough up in his Pack to fight off challengers which reduced any standing Chuck could expect to have. Those of us, Weres that is, that chose government or military careers are allowed to ignore most Pack rules. It means abandoning your family, but it keeps you and them safe. When he got to school, he’d gone the dominance route. Fighting is a way of life for most Were males especially if you’re a big guy. Like Chuck. He’s a WereCat by birth. I wanted to just serve my ‘time’ and be done with it. Chuck wanted an actual caree
r. He was techie and forensics was his deal.”

  Winston gave me a funny look. “Like CSI? He wanted to work in a lab somewhere? How does a geek beat you up?”

  “He didn’t beat me at least not that way. In the dorms he was my roommate, but I didn’t socialize with him. We both went our separate ways during the day. Picking fights was what he did when he wasn’t studying. Until he picked the wrong person and got his ass handed to him. By a girl even. She whipped him good. Then she and her roommate turned him somehow,” I explained.

  “Turned?”

  “Yeah, he went from fighting all the time, to driving the girls all over the place in this old car he’d bought. They formed a sort of clique on campus. Catherine and Agatha dragged him back on track academically and me along with him. Why avoid them when I could join them.” I smiled at the thought of those three and the unicorn. Mustn’t forget the unicorn. “One of the girls is the only Witch the FBI ever recruited. I owe my life to her.”

  “Your life, how so?”

  The restaurant was dead silent. I knew dad was listening now. When I’d come home having quit the FBI and didn’t get a job in law enforcement he’d known something was up. My secrets my life is what I’d said. That was the reason I lived in the garage and did all this work for free. I wasn’t man enough to tell them the truth. Bowing my head, I stared at the table top. Tracing one of the scratches I remembered when I’d helped dad drag these things in and how proud we’d been to have actual tables in here rather than just crates and barrels.

  “Drugs. Alcohol. Stupid shit. I didn’t take the Academy serious. I thought I wanted the party, and the party was what I tried to make it. Agatha changed all of that. Her and Catherine, Cat. Here in Madison I don’t exactly belong to a Pack. The primary one here is out at Redstone and it’s mostly military and wolves. At school there were several but none official. Strength was what was important there. The FBI was to be your Pack not something local. Small groups were formed all over the place and battles were fought for who would rule them. I mentioned that Chuck was a fighter? He fought Cat to see who was tougher. That was a fight to see. This itty-bitty little girl against big beefy Chuck. We all figured he’d pound her into the ground in a heartbeat, but it was him that got pounded. Cat is what’s known in Pack circles as a throwback. Her other form is the stuff of nightmares. A sabretooth tiger as big a grizzly bear and twice as mean. With a single fight she proclaimed her dominance and scared half the school. Can you imagine it? Two small girls, a WereCat and a Witch, ruling the whole damn school. But they didn’t want it and kept to themselves. Them and Chuck, my roommate. Slowly they sucked me into their world and I was better for it. My party ways slowed, and school actually became interesting. Agatha, the Witch, had her own place to work and study at. Add in Chuck’s car and we were our own small Pack. They kept me out of trouble for three whole years,” I explained with a chuckle. “Agatha has a Witch Familiar that’s a tiny talking Unicorn. The first time I saw him I thought he was a hallucination.”