Haiti Noir

Somehow, my hands remain steady and my voice unmarked by the fear that is overtaking me. There is something in Ben’s eyes, cold and animal-something I know I will never forget. He just sits there, listening to the loud ticking of the dashboard clock, his hands locked on the wheel, his foot still on the brake pedal. The smell of burnt rubber fills the cabin.

A muscle in his cheek twitches as he drives me home. And I can read his eyes. I know where you live.

***

When the embargo ends, the partying resumes. Somehow, I manage to avoid Ben for a few months. But then he shows up at my birthday party, with the clear brown eyes and dimples that complement his bright smile. He helps Nelly out of a red BMW, and she introduces him as her new boyfriend. Ben offers a strange smile, the corners of his mouth lift, but his eyes remain dead, without the slightest twinkle in them. Finally, he shows a set of pearly white teeth and helps himself to a glass of kremas at the outdoor bar.

“Did you miss me?” he asks.

My mother pulls me aside, to a corner of the patio. “Who is he?” I can hear suspicion in her voice.

“Nelly’s boyfriend, apparently.”

“I see that,” she says with a dismissive gesture of her right hand. “I meant, isn’t he the teacher who used to drive the beat-up Volkswagen? How come he’s driving a BMW now?”

I shrug. “I heard he’s a cop now,” then look absentmindedly at the azaleas and bougainvilleas lining the side of the house. “I don’t know, Mom.”

“Look at all the expensive jewelry around his neck. Smells like drug money to me.”

“I don’t know, Mom.”

I sigh and walk toward the deejay, a really handsome young man who smiles every time he catches me watching him do his thing. The music is good-mellow and sexy, and never overpowering. At the deejay’s table, I check the list of songs to be played next, smiling at the familiar faces on the dance floor. The boys wear Saturday-night smiles. The girls are in dresses and slinky tops, with their hair and makeup done to perfection. I shake hands, kiss cheeks, tousle hair, and hug. But something about Ben bugs me.

Ben and Nelly are French-kissing in a corner. Her chubby, short, and dark-skinned body and his gangly lighter one, merging. Nelly sees me and waves her arms high above her head. I gesture back, a very bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. Well, Ben is certainly the center of attention that night. He shows his police badge around and girls giggle, beaming in adoration. Nelly hugs him proudly.

I bump into my cousin Clement who’s spending a few days with us from Port-au-Prince.

“Do you know that guy over there?” he asks.

I look around, at the boys prowling and the girls flashing a lot of skin. The music is so loud I feel it vibrating in my eardrums. “What guy?”

“This guy making out with Nelly. Is his name Ben?”

I nod. “It sure is. What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you. Could you give me a sec?”

I follow Clement inside my father’s study. “What’s up?” I say again.

“Do you actually know Ben?” he asks gravely.

“Well, we used to be friends. He taught me how to drive.”

Clement scratches his ear. “Listen, I don’t want to scare you or anything, but Ben is out on a bail bond.”

I can hear my parents laughing in the kitchen. They drink cocktails, dark ones, often peeping through the venetian blinds to check on the “kids.” “I can’t believe my little girl just turned eighteen,” Mom says. “It seems like only days ago when we were playing koukou, ah!”

My heart is dancing the cha-cha. “What was he arrested for?”

Clement lights up a cigarette. “A drug deal gone bad. A fight at a pool party followed by a boy’s body being found in his trunk.”

A pool party, huh?

The cigarette hangs loosely from his lips. He lets it dangle there until the ashes fall off by themselves into a tiny gray pile on the floor. “Damnit!” he says. “I can’t believe this crooked cop is still walking around freely with his police badge.”

He lets me smoke some of his cigarette, and the gray smoke curls up toward the discolored ceiling. I slump down on a sofa, hoping that Clement is mistaken. The adults in the kitchen move on to talking about politics and the situation in Port-au-Prince. About the corrupt new police who replaced the army a few weeks ago.

“Are you sure about Ben?” I ask. “I mean, you know how it works here. Could just be rumors.”

“Believe me, ti cheri, I know what I’m talking about.”

My heart is skidding up into my throat. I need to find Nelly. Can it be true that Ben is a murderer? I remember the pool incident. I think about his broody eyes, his listen-to-me lips.

I look everywhere. Nelly and Ben are gone. Just gone.

It’s midnight. I dial Nelly’s phone number. No one picks up. The deejay belts out Bob Marley, and I chug my cup of cola champagne a little harder and realize how empty it is. The music is crisp in my ears, light and airy.