Satiricus was astounded. He’d been in Georgetown on Sunday and his editor had asked him to take in the flavour of what was happening as the Camp Street jail went up in flames. Imagine being in the middle of a city, with over a thousand inmates sending streaks of flames into the sky like a huge funeral pyre, and hundreds of folks in the streets screaming, “Whe’ de fire reel deh???”!
“But dah right in tong. Yuh mean dem nah gat fire reel?” asked Bungi curiously, as he put down the beer he’d been gurgling. “Wha’ happen to dem fire reel fram near Big Ma’ket?”
“All I saw were two fire engines – and they couldn’t even get water!” said Satiricus.
“I saw the whole thing on TV,” said Hari. “I was wondering what happened to the Police. There were ten times more Police when Parliament was sitting.”
“Police?” asked Bungi before Satiricus could answer. “Wha’ happen to de SWAT team yuh leadah Rum Jhaat bin ah tell abee about??”
“Don’t start with me Bungi!” said Satiricus firmly. “This is not the time for politics!”
“Dis na palatics, Bai,” said Bungi. “Dah ah Rum Jhaat jaab!”
“Bungi’s right you know,” said Hari. “With all those convicts killing wardens and burning down the place, this was what a SWAT team is supposed to handle.”
“Well don’t criticise the man,” replied Satiricus in a huff. “He did attend the news conference the same night, you know.”
“Budday! Volga rush ah Big hospital w’en dem tek all dem warden who get chap-up deh,” said Bungi with a smirk. “How come Rum Jhaat guh pan TV an’ na de jail?”
“Well he had to explain why he didn’t do anything since the last fire,” said Satiricus.
“Ha! Suga’ suck up all de guvment money!” snorted Bungi, “Suh how come dem still buil’ da big stad-yam and na wan new jail?”