A Wolf In Clarks Town

By Delroy Smart

Sink your mind into this spellbinder as Delroy Smart takes you back to one of the most prominent British colonial territory to uncover the powerful forces behind this extraordinary thriller. What you find inside will captivate and arouse your desire to share a copy, and read it one more time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667844220

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All contents in this book are creations of fiction. Names, characterizations, places, and references are for the sole purpose of giving form to the author’s imagination.

Copyright © 2022 by Delroy Smart

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

ISBN 978-1-66-784422-0

1st printing, 2022 United States of America

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To everyone who have changed my life and made me a better person

Table of Contents

Introduction

1 Shillings and Pence

2 Sergeant Simons

3 Fall Out

4 Clarks Town Dentist

5 Wickedness

6 Nineteen Sixty-two

7 Wolf on the Prowl

8 It was Just a Dream

9 Grudge Match

10 Eslene’s Demise

11 The Wolf

GLOSSARY

Introduction

This story is the emergence of an epic tale, a memorized campfire narrative with no other written accounts. It is a descendant’s recollection of how one remarkable man controlled everyone around him through savagery, intimidation, and bitterness.

Discover how he dealt with criminals, the police, family dysfunctions, and his triumphs over the wicked and dead.

Some narratives are dreadful renditions passed down at twilight over pitted fireplaces, or at the game table. Many of which have long been forgotten. Yet, those that survived still conjure up endless nightmares, recited again after dusk, on their way here.

Let us begin at the entrance to his adopted hometown, defined by its green peaks and long valleys with a single, decaying, narrow road to provide the only way in and out.

On the last Friday of every month, mini-vans loaded with European tourists angle their way through the quiet village. None of them stops long enough to notice anything unconventional about the local people. For that quality, they need to live there. Discover why family ties run deeper than lemonade and dinner with the neighbors.

Continue for another ten miles, and natures green dominates the occasional appearance of productive farms, vegetable plots, banana fields, crops on long vines, and even the common coconut tree on grass-covered hills, high above small streams.

Out on the road, a heavy farm truck lumbered past a farmer behind an overloaded donkey taking measured steps to get up the same hill.

Four wheeled automobiles are not always successful though, because the washed out mud and gravel surface provides only enough traction to keep the driver occupied. Cheap and reliable transportation are the primary reasons why the jackass holds its value on short expeditions.

Close to home, women, and children also bear heavy loads above their heads. Most of the time it is a water bucket, a stalk of banana or a bundle of yams tied together with vines.

Any aspiration to break away from their deep-rooted traditional life style for higher education, or opportunities in an office requires serious ambition. Away from the farms, profitable work is difficult to obtain.

On average, each day begins when the roosters crow. Breakfast is prepared and served military style. Digestion happens in transit, or while the children finish their half-mile trek to fetch two pales of water. Any further delays can exacerbate old tensions before they set out on another three-mile walk to school.

The cyclic routine ensures no one gets an opportunity to spend more than a few days away from a fixed dependence on tilling the soil. Those who promise never to return home soon became home sick. Developed a craving for simpler, more natural foods, or grew tired of the noise and concrete covered surfaces.

Close to home, keen knowledge of everyone’s cousins is an absolute necessity. Young men and women are not always aware of each other’s lineages.

At large ceremonies, weddings, games, and school events, multiple people often respond to the same last name, an indication almost everybody in town are in fact, close relatives. A casual assertion of, "hey you children look so much alike" means more than the immature students can easily decipher.

Mix up of a child’s legal name on their birth certificate is also a common blunder, especially when the father’s intent is to conceal his identity.

After high school, most graduates make haste for one of the two large cities: Kingston or Montego Bay. Others remain for a couple reasons: To take care of a parent or older relative, and tend to the crops and animals. Those are the ones who must be careful to whom they wed. Kissing a relative is a serious matter, especially evident when a child is born with six fingers.

Once, per day, the rickety bus goes by, on its route. It has a regular schedule, but when it shows up, the driver is always late.

Onboard is a conductor whose routine is to explain, to irate riders, why they had broken down, or experienced unexpected engine problems.

At the sheltered stop, nobody needs to wait on line because the motor is loud enough to hear on approach from a half mile away. When it arrives, the clunker is often fully loaded with irritable passengers.

September to November’s heavy rains is as reliable as the hot and humid temperature. A ride on board serves to make the situation unbearable. No air conditioner means everyone sweats. To ease the burden, they wipe themselves with handkerchiefs, but that is not the main reason why customers want to avoid the two public buses.

Stories about how they often overturn and tumble down steep gullies and embankments scare many of them away. Before boarding, the brave ones get down on their knees and pray to God to keep them safe on their journey to the capital or another village for work and business.

Aside from schoolchildren, adults have no need to hurry to their destinations. Long distance trip on foot happens every day. In fact, it is normal to see young people barefooted, unless they are dressed for special occasions.

Ownership of shoes stresses the resources of the average family. Proper care, after a walk through mud, and dirt, isn’t easy. Youngsters find it easier to wash their feet off, rather than a procedural clean and shine after they return home. Grownups handle the muck in their own way. They wear goulashes or heavy rubber boots throughout their daily choirs.

Noisy disturbances are uncommon here, except for the occasional donkey bray, and the exception of one unrivaled man who whistles non-stop.

The endless piper is a regular sight on his bicycle, a notorious brute that never walks unless he is at work, or on his farm. Known for being intolerant and lethal when provoked, his recognizable whistle is enough to make grown men uneasy, if not utterly scared. In person, his presence alone can persuade everyone to move aside, similar to the type of behavior children reserve for the Headmaster in the hallways.

The occasional loner, a bruiser and mature thug, does not play coy. Hand-to-hand combat to resolve disputes suits him just fine. He has no affiliation with any groups, sports no dreadlocks, nor depends on nobody sworn to stand by his side in case there is trouble.

His daughter nicknamed him, The Wolf but his registered name is Jeb Walker. Not a true maverick, he travels alone, by foot or bike because he likes to do things his way—on his own terms.

Over his back, he carries a hooked machete. It is in a sling made from pig intestine, which crosses over his broad shoulders.

Although he works on his farms all seven days, Jeb never looks rumpled or dirty. His wife washes and presses his khaki uniform with starch, twice per week. The only thing that wrinkles them is rain and excessive amounts of sweat, a compliment that cannot extend below his knees.

On his feet he wears galoshes or patched up leather boots with unbalanced heals. Every time he returns home, mud coats them from bottom to top. Then when he takes them off, the smell is more repulsive than an angry skunk. As a result, his wife makes him sit on a bench outside with both feet in a pan of water until she is satisfied the stench is gone. While there, he interrogates the kids or sharpens his machete.

For years, Clarkstonians have watched their sizable neighbor go by alone on his bicycle. However, he uses only a few words to greet them before moving on. Even so, Jeb is not unkind or antisocial. He is just a man who minds his own business.

Other than his best friend, people stay clear of him because of the awful rumors. Most of the long tales turn out to be true. On several occurrences, he managed to overpower, three, four, and five grown men at the same time. Respect averted further misunderstandings.

Almost everyone near and far has shared some version of his adventures. Such as the ghost stories, children tell before bedtime, although none would point a finger or snicker at him when he is close by. Despite his unrivaled strength, he has two severe weaknesses.

The Wolf never attended primary school. Dissatisfaction with his educators hastened his dropout from secondary classes. If someone else says he did, then that version is mistaken. One thing is clear beyond a doubt. Love is not a word he ever uses, but he demonstrates it through hard work and a steadfast commitment to basic responsibilities.

Recently, a young man who calls himself, The Boss Man completed his sentence and received a conditional release on probation. To avoid revenge from the victim’s family, he decided to move to Clarks Town to get a fresh start. Unfortunately, prison often fails to change a person’s character to be, just, moral, empathetic.

The Boss Man is an infamous swindler, a robber, and an opportunist. He knows nothing about how to farm, nor the people he is about to encounter.

As he languished behind bars, for a couple of years, he got wind from a chatterbox about a stammering rude man inmates eulogize as, The Wolf.

Haven’t you heard, his hands are twelve inches long and wide, the bragger crowed.

Sure! I bet you are going to tell me his wood is bigger than my arm too, right?

No bredda, this is not a joke! replied the other prisoner.

In prison, every man has tall tales to tell. Mr. Nigel didn’t see any need to heed the warnings. Anyhow, no one uses his given name in the slammer. All that chatter about a celebrated legend by felons, prompted everyone to change their real names to something more menacing and creepy.

Benji Nigel changed his to, The Boss Man in respect to the reason for his conviction. His cellmate, who served the same sentence for robbery, walked out the door behind him. That man’s actual designate is Andrew Weeks, also known as, The Dog.

The two former convicts has formed an alliance and committed themselves into the supervision of a close relative.

Behind bars, and before, they never had to work a single day for their keeps. Behavior acceptable for beauty queens suited them just fine, showing off long fingernails, hands that were always clean, and played with their clothes out of habit.

Same as immoral politicians, they prefer to exploit the labor and earnings of the working class for their keeps.

Why should I work hard when there are other people available to do so? Benji once quibbled to Andrew.

That’s because you are, The Baass, said his partner as he bends over in laughter on a wooden bench where they bit into sugar cane stalks.

Beyond their wise cracks, the men also hatched up a depraved criminal plan. Either hunger or a chance at what appear to be easy game sparked the ill-conceived scheme to plunder