At the Spanish Town Hospital maternity ward congratulations were being given to the mother of Damon Trinity. A chain away where the morgue was located, condolences were being given to the grieving mother of Michael Trinity.
Where there is life there is death; Michael had fought his way to become the leading henchman of the Black Reign Syndicate, the most notorious cartel in north-east St. Catherine. As is the case with all posses in the Jamaican terrain political strings were attached to each. The adage goes “don’t bite the hand that feeds you” but this was the fatal mistake that Michael made on that chilling December morning. At day break a special anti-crime interdiction unit bombarded his dwelling. Deftly Michael reached for his nine millimeter Glock and began discharging its contents rapidly, unconsciously, stupidly. The six man elite unit headed by sergeant Gabriel listened intently to the bullets being emitted as they lodged and ricocheted throughout the humble abode. As the distinct sound of the nine millimeter mechanism jamming, reverberated in the air, like a vulture swooping down on its prey the team struck with swift intensity. Michael collapsed to the ground as the bullets ravaged his body. As his life force was being pushed in, Damon was being pushed out, as his eyes closed Damon’s opened, as blood seeped all over his body, Damon’s was being wiped off, as he took his last breath Damon took the first and the cords were cut.
On the seventh day a procession of well wishers, sympathizers and politicians made their way to the Dovecot cemetery. The heavens opened as the thirsty ground was being quenched. Strewn all over the grounds were stories of death and despair. Michael became the six hundred and sixty fifth. Presiding over the burial was Father Canon, throughout history these parting words mark the end of life, “Ashes to ashes”, as he said this sky erupted vibrating the tranquil atmosphere. “Dust to dust” the sky was punctuated by lightening which momentarily lit up the sky. Then came the unmistakable thunder which seem to beckon a fallen titan into the unknown. As the funeral procession departed, Father Canon cradled Damon in his arms as the hem of his death black robe blew in the winter air, his Caucasian face nestled on Damon’s, he whispered “Bloom rose within your blazing hour with darts of fragrance wound the spell bound air.” He would!
“The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world.” Damon’s cradle would soon be motionless. Mia, the mother of Damon lived in seclusion after the murder of Michael, as a result the lavish life-style she once lived was no more. All her assets were seized, from the E2 Benz to the chateau in Negril and to complete her demoralization her bank account was frozen. All this was due to her association with Michael, the same force that had brought him to notoriety had brought her to her kness.