The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

It was around nine p.m. that evening. The air was warm and pleasant. The scent of rain could be smelled for miles away while
lighting in the far off distance to the west could be seen flashing off and on like blazing fireworks.
Livingston, still adorned in his dapper suit, brazenly walked towards the small police station that was located just five miles away
from the Downtown district. The building itself was surrounded by nothing but waving palm trees and tall grass that looked as if it
hadn't been cut in months. From just a few feet away he could hear reggae music come from within the building. It wasn't loud,
but it was present enough for him to become nauseous. Without taking a single breath the man struck through the door to find
six officers all lounging around the office like all their individual cares were cast to the four winds. The humidity inside the office
was thick, which would have explained exactly why all six men were seated in front of various fans throughout.
"Well, who be dis?" One of the officers managed to get up from out of his seat and approach the front desk.
Livingston ruffled his hair with his hand, lifted his head and boldly said, "I've decided to file a complaint."
The officer, as well as the others behind him all looked at the man in the most confounded way. "Why ya here, mon?" The officer
questioned.
"I'd like to report a robbery."
"Hold it!" One of the officers from behind stood up. "I remember dis snow white." He approached the desk. "He was disturbing de
peace earlier today."
"I'm afraid that's a falsehood, my friend." Livingston remarked.
"Are ya calling dis mon a liar?" the first officer asked.
"I'm not calling anyone anything. I just want what was taken from me."
The two officers gave one another casual, arrogant glances before returning their attention back to Livingston.
"Look here, why ya go home before we take ya in for lyin."
Livingston stood at the desk and counted all six men before the other two officers that accosted him earlier in the day came
down a series of stairs and made their way to the desk.
"What be dis?" The commanding officer brazenly stood before Livingston.

"Dis rasta mon call us liars." One of the officers proclaimed.
"Is dat right?"
"That is very much correct." Livingston put his hands on his hips.
"Why ya here, mon? Our business be done."
Stepping closer to the officer, Livingston replied, "I'm here to retrieve what you took from me."
The officer turned and smiled at the other officers before looking back at Livingston. "What, ya crazy, mon? Ya come all de way
here to accuse me of taking yer money? Ya best to be gwan before we lock your white ass up!"
Livingston stood and watched as all eight officers laughed at him. That was when Livingston saw fit to take a step back, rub his
sweaty neck and steadily say, "I deem it necessary to explain something to you blokes. What you see here before you may be
the worst of the scalawags, but I happen to come from stately nobility. You see, way back in the 1600's, my ancestors sailed the
world in search of great wealth. They were instrumental in colonization and trade; slave trade to be exact. My ancestors gathered
rodents like yourselves and used each and every one to their means. Even on this very island you call home, they prospered.
You see, gentlemen, I am of a different breed, while you were, are and always shall be...cattle."
The room became still and eerily quiet right then. The music that was playing clear in the back of the room was the only thing
uttering a single sound. The air became increasingly stifling and ridged to the point where taking a breath became a labor.
"See here, check dis fucker from top to bottom," the commanding officer ordered.
At once, two other officers came and patted Livingston down, searching within his pockets and even inside his shirt.
"He be clean." One officer said.
Livingston once more counted the persons around him right before out of the corner of his right eye the sight of someone
creeping down the steps came into view.
It was then that the man relaxed his body. "Do you still have my money, constable?" He uttered with a smirk.
All of the sudden, one of the officers from behind shrieked out in terror as Arthur slit his throat from ear to ear with a razor blade.
At once, all the others instantly went into attack mode, all that is but the commanding officer who was taken from behind by
Livingston and chocked within an inch of his life.

Arthur was like a one man killing machine. One by one he managed to dispatch each officer that came after him. One was
stabbed in the gut, while another in the eye. The remaining all stood in front of Arthur with their guns drawn. Arthur stood in a
defensive posture, like a cat ready to pounce before two of the officers were sent flying backwards by an unseen force into the
wall. Arthur seized one distracted officer and ripped out his throat before running over and stabbing the final one to death,
leaving only pools of blood lying all over the floor.
The officer that Livingston had in a choke hold at last succumbed to his fate before dropping to the floor in a heap. Livingston
knelt down and checked the man's pockets before pulling out a wad of bills and counting them.
"Bloody baboon," Livingston snarled before taking the man's gun, standing back up and shooting him in the head with it. "He
probably spent the rest on some black whore!"
Livingston then walked over and noticed Arthur eating away at one of the dead officers he had laid waste to. The man turned his
head in disgust before saying, "You and your master got what you needed; now we need to get outta here!"
But Arthur wouldn't responded, he just kept on chewing and salivating away as though he hadn't eaten in weeks.
Livingston approached the man from behind and grabbed him by the back. "Let's go!"
Arthur spun around and growled at him. It wasn't an animalistic growl, but it was upsetting enough to have Livingston leap
backwards out of fear while still holding to the gun he had just stolen.
"All this for three pounds of diamonds," he indignantly whispered to himself with his head turned.
Standing back up and wiping his blood drenched mouth, Arthur replied, "Yes, and more where dose came from."
Livingston stared only for a moment at Arthur before Arthur took a piece of paper from off one of the desks and used a lighter
that was already placed beside it to ignite the paper.
Livingston watched in anticipation as the man placed the flaming paper onto the floor. "Quite practical, if you ask me." He
quipped. "Is all well now?"
Arthur never even bothered to glance at Livingston as he simply strolled out the front door.