Satiricus was mulling over the latest Camp St Prison breakout. His leader Rum Jhaat was still under fire, but fortunately, he thought, this GECON judgement was going to take the heat off him. At least over at the Back Street Bar where he was headed, after his day of toil. If he steered the conversation in the right direction.
“Suh how come Rum Jhaat an’ ‘e bais nah ketch dem four criminal yet?” said Bungi, not giving Satiricus time to get settled.
“Budday! Is only a week yet!” replied Satiricus with a forced smile.
“Sato, na tek me fuh wan fool!” said Bungi as he clinked bottles with Satiricus and Hari. “Nah you tell me Rum Jhaat gat intelligence fuh ketch dem?”
“He didn’t mean Rum Jhaat intelligent, Bungi,” butted in Hari, placatingly. “He meant the Joint Forces would be using information they get from snitches. They call that “intelligence”.”
“C’mon now fellas!” said Satiricus, desperately trying to change the subject. “What y’all think about this GECON business?”
“Well, we’re right where we started,” hazarded Hari. “Prezzie was wrong, but he still gets to reject whoever Jagdesh propose.”
“How come de Judge decide suh?” asked Bungi. “Jagdesh right and still ‘e get wrang?”
“Well, the Judge agreed Jagdesh was correct on the questions she was supposed to answer,” confided Satiricus, pleased they weren’t discussing Rum Jhaat’s abject failure to capture the escaped murderers. “But she gave Prezzie full marks for a question he hadn’t even asked!”
“But how da count?” asked Bungi, all puzzled. “W’en me cut some-baddy else cane, me nah get pay fuh da!”
“Same thing in court, Bungi,” said Hari. “What the Judge told Prezzie doesn’t count.”
“Suh wha’ mek she ansa ovas question?” asked Bungi curiously.
“You remember when you were “temporary” on the sugar estate, you had to do whatever they asked?” asked Satiricus.
“Yes,” said Bungi. “Dem coulda fyaah me anytime!”
“Same thing, here, Bungi,” said Hari.“Same thing!”
