Satiricus was distraught. It was if his whole world was collapsing around him. How could he go on when the centre wouldn’t hold? For a decade now he’s been trumpeting Rum Jhaat as one of his leaders he looked to for guidance. Now he was throwing his hands up? What would he tell the fellas at the Back Street Bar he was entering?
“Hey!! Look who the breeze just blew in!” said Hari as Satiricus pulled a chair to sit down. “Like you were looking for those escaped prisoners!”
“Naah…they recaptured one,” Satiricus replied as he grabbed a beer. “Quick work, eh?”
“De Jhaat bin seh how ‘e wuk a gyam headache,” pointed out Cappo slyly. “Suh ‘e headache gaan dong wan lil bit?”
“Well, the man has a lot of stress, you know,” said Satiricus pleadingly.
“Stress, me ass!” responded Bungi rudely. “Na he aks fuh de security wuk? An’ now ‘e seh ‘e na know wha’ fuh do?”
“Ole Harry Truman said, if you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen,” said Hari in his usual mild manner. “Why doesn’t Rum Jhaat resign if he can’t do the job?”
“Well, the Government didn’t give him the funds to fix the prison system,” said Satiricus. “That’s why Lusignan’s so crowded.”
“Sato, na ta’k schupidness!” said Cappo as he put down his beer bottle firmly. “When wan baatle a get full up, you can put in less in, yuh know.”
“What?!” asked Satiricus.
“Cappo mean if de jail a get full up,” interjected Bungi, “wha’ mek Rum Jhaat na wuk wid dem judge an’ magistrate na fuh put all dem small bai waa t’ief mango in jail?”
“Well, he was too busy making sure the bars close by 2am, you know!” laughed Hari.
“But tell me, Sato,” demanded Cappo, “Ah wha’ mek Rum Jhaat seh dat beca’se suga’ worka sev’tance, dem nah get fuh fix de pris’n?”
“’E tek ‘e ey an’ pass suga worka!” exploded Bungi. “Dem bin done put money fuh fix Mazaruni!”
“Rum Jhaat is out of his league,” said Hari, looking at Satiricus. “Lil’ boy nah climb ladder an’ tu’n big man!!”
