chapter 14b 

(The Limo) 

Moïse Berri 

and the Reconstruction of the Haitian 

Space Agency 

by Jude Jarda 

14b 

The Limo 

Cyril Lavache has been the center of attention of the Port-au-Prince terminus for the last three hours. The cobbler showed up at the bus station at the wheel of a black Lincoln Town Car limousine, wearing a flamboyant yellow suit with a violet carnation in the pocket, cream shoes one size too big and flashy Mickey Mouse orange socks. He came out of the stretched vehicle, holding a box of freshly baked patties and a magnificent bouquet of garden roses. When the transport hub was still crowded, people who recently ate were pointing fingers at Cyril, blaming the shoemaker for that insupportable blue cod smell. The starving ones, on the other hand, saw a potential hero in him. Now that there are only three people left on the platform, Cyril Lavache is wondering if he is indeed at the right place. The shoe repairman by day, and policeman by night, is expecting a coach, carrying his adoptive daughter, Violette, to arrive at any moment. He came to the capital to intercept the young woman and prevent her from committing the irreparable. It might sound very selfish, but if Violette gets twenty-five years for the murder of Rondall Jérémie, the rice vendor, slash, rapist, slash, thief, Cyril will automatically be condemned to raise her future kid alone. Who else will do the job while the poor girl will be busy breaking rocks in a hard labor penitentiary? 

The old cop found out the hard way he had very few friends, when he started looking around to borrow a car for his excursion in Port-au-Prince. Cyril Lavache's intentions were noble and his despair immense, but everyone he asked for that favor was more preoccupied by the risk of damage or theft of their machine then by the tragic and urgent aspect of the situation. Dorion, the florist, saw no problem lending his motorcycle to Cyril, but the thing needed minor reparations that would have taken way too long. Ludovic, the slow itinerant patty vendor of Capois-la-Mort Avenue, offered his bike to the cobbler, unaware of the great travel distance between the two cities and the dangers of the road, partly flooded by mudslides and blocked by storm debris left by Cyclone Sandy. Cyril Lavache finally bumped into Pastor Louis Éloïse. The cleric advised him to take a chance with Elzéar Michelet, owner of Mizerikod's only auto repair shop. The minister said that a limousine with its engine running was parked in the yard, left totally unattended. So the shoemaker went there after buying a bottle of rum, a wise move to increase his negotiating power with Elzéar Michelet, a certified boozer. 

“I'll bring it back scratch free and the gas tank back on the F.” Cyril Lavache promised once the deal was done. 
“I've got a better idea, Cordwainer. When you get to Port-au-Prince, I want you to bring that lemon to Saint-Clair Auto; that's on Paul VI Street. I already discussed the price with the boss over there. Now, you keep five per cent for yourself. That should be more than enough to get you some new shoes, something decent, something you're mother would be proud of, and a bus ticket back home.” 
“What's wrong with that ride, Boss Elzéar? It doesn't look like a junker to me.” 
“That Lincoln is two tons of bad news and bad luck, Cordwainer. Do you remember Mortimer Nordin, skinny jack with two missing front teeth, Willy Anne Dumortier's hunchback henchman?” 
“Killed in Turgeau, I believe. It was in Victor l'Hexagone's newspaper.” 
“Wrong! Even jacketed ammunition with a steel core cannot harm that kind of creature. Something we cannot see rides on his back at night. The use of silver bullets that were soaked at least seven days in holy water is necessary if you want to stop it. Mortimer Nordin came here with the chauffeur of that limo and ask my main employee to crush it completely. I instantly smelled trouble. You know, sulfur? Why destroy an automobile, when you can make a fortune selling the spare parts separately? I also noticed that the limo driver was not comfortable in the presence of Nordin. In fact, I could tell that Archibald was terrified by the man. I thought he was going to faint at one point. The car works, it will bring you to Port-au-Prince, no trouble. A good cleaning and a quick tune up; you're good to go. Changing the shock absorbers would be a good thing also, but I'll leave that to the new owner. I'm fed up with that grease monkey business. My senior mechanic took the job without my permission. Can you believe that? Such a thing is not acceptable in my enterprise. Lordy knows my rules. They're written. The bastard showed up late like always this morning and left early. Trust me, Lordy de Grâce will never find another employer after I show him the door. Between you and I, Cordwainer, the key was in the ignition. My eyes were closed. That Lincoln disappeared during my nap. Are we clear?” 
“Thank you, Boss Elzéar. Write me the address of Saint-Clair Auto on a piece of paper.” 
“Here is their card with their phone number on the back. The Earth sometimes shakes without any warning, Cordwainer. The White men are provoking Big Blue with all that digging and hydraulic fracturing bullshit for cash. They want to experience Her reaction when she's had enough. Were you aware of that?” 
“What are we going to do against nature, Boss Elzéar? Looking for trouble is in their genes. I read the other day that they were looking for advanced alien civilization all over the universe, like blind crippled rodents chasing really fat starving raptors. ” 
“Heard any news about my grandchildren at the police station?” 
“The search is still on, Colonel.” 
“Here,” said the old man, handing a partially burnt notebook to Cyril Lavache. 
“What is it?” 
“That's a gift for Violette. It's an alternative to murder, if your daughter's head is just too hard. It's on the way to the capital, in Grand Saline, just before you hit Carrefour. You stop at this address and ask to meet with Bonne Suzette or Master Pantaléon. They know all the secrets of that extremely toxic poison you can find in the liver of the parrotfish. That thing paralyzes a one hundred kilo man in ten minutes. As soon as your daughter gives it to the demented loser who attacked her, the metamorphosis will begin. Once he is tamed and convinced that he is a walking dead, Violette may smite him whenever she wants and even cut his balls with a spoon. That way, she can savor her sweet vengeance over a long period of time and avoid a lengthy and unpleasant incarceration.” 

Cyril Lavache is now the only person left at the bus station. The ticket agent has been talking on the phone for two hours. Cyril goes to see him and tells the young man part of his story. He asks for some explanation about the bus delay. The employee apologizes on behalf of the company. The bus from Cap-Haïtien broke down near Saint-Marc. The passengers were transferred to another bus line that will drop them at the bus terminal in Petionville. The old cobbler gets really upset. Cyril tells the clerk that he should have informed him of the situation a long time ago. The young agent answers that he didn't do so because he was numbed by fear. He explains to Cyril Lavache that he recently fled his hometown of Petite Anse, on Gônave Island, because he was unable to pay his gambling debts due to the wrong people. When he saw Cyril step out of that black limousine, without a passenger at the back and not wearing a chauffeur's uniform, he thought that his life was over. Lincoln's like that one are usually driven by Willy Bossal's cold-blooded slayers. All this time spent on the phone was to confess one last time to the priest of his parish and say goodbye to the people he loved, one by one.