chapter 16d 
(The Hostage) 

Moïse Berri 
and the Reconstruction of the Haitian 
Space Agency 

by Jude Jarda 

16d 
The Hostage 

Victor Gourdet finally meets with the informer, a long-legged adolescent who never respected Chuck Canada and always considered him a fake thug and a complete outsider. The teen knows where to find the Diabbaka's leader and how to detect counterfeit money. He leads Victor and his team through the muddy trails of the disaster camp, all the way up to the military tent of Emcee Jones Brooklyn. There, they find the much talked about hostage sitting on a chair, right next to the founder of the redoubtable gang. 

Jones Brooklyn is busy shaving his head with a fishing knife. The kidnapped man is all tied up and sweaty. A dirty sock is shoved into his mouth. Jones stops preening himself in front of the mirror; mumbles something unintelligible; then sprinkles some powdered milk on the floor. This is to define a secure path for his guests. He warns them that stepping out of that limited zone will automatically initiate the firing of at least six firearms and expose them to a deadly hail of bullets. Before being a shelter, Emcee Jones explains, that rugged nylon tent is essentially an executioner and his own tomb. There is no way he is going back to prison, many have overheard him repeat on various occasions. 

The first requirement of the gang leader is to turn off the camera and cut off the sound of the microphones. While he continues to pamper himself, Jones Brooklyn tells the journalist that the captive suffers from a rare disease, some kind of constant delirium, probably the consequence of a poisonous spider bite. Nothing he says makes any sense. The interview cannot be shot live; editing will be necessary in order to create an acceptable video. 

“Captain Pintado insisted on that matter, Rude Boy Jones.” Victor Gourdet says. “He wants to speak face to face with Moïse Berri.”

“That would be simple if Moïse was here with us,” Jones Brooklyn replies, vague and discouraged. “That guy is convinced that his name is Yosef Cohen-Abitbol, born in Marrakech in 57, residing in Jaffa since 85. He is a secular Jew and single by choice. He owns a tinsmith shop in Tel-Aviv and he is a member of a comedy troop, in which he sings and sometimes acts. He impersonates Sancho Panza, Joe Dassin, Aladdin and Harlequin. You've dealt with the president of Zanmi d'Haïti before, am I right, Mr. Hexagon?” 

“I wrote a number of his speeches, yes. I was never part of his inner circle, but I did shake his hands many times.” 

“Do you see him in this tent?” 

“Stop fooling around, Rude Boy Jones, the guy is sitting right here in front of us.” 

“How about you, Evasion, do you confirm that this clown in the bathrobe, bound to the chair, is the project manager of Vilaj Espwa, the President of Zanmi d'Haïti?” 

“His bodyguards never succeeded in pushing me away from him when I wanted a picture,” Evasion says with pride, rubbing his camera like if it was a magic lamp. 

“The man simply lost his mind,” Rico Mars supposes with some compassion in his voice. “He would not be the first in this country. But it doesn't change much to the game. He is still a White man, a foreign citizen and detained in a dark and humid place against his will. We are definitely in the presence of a hostage taking situation. I say, we proceed exactly like we've planned, with the live interview and all.” 

“Unless he is playing with our heads,” Victor Gourdet remarks. 

“Besides following the Mosaic Law, what can he add to support his story?” 

“We want to hear it from him,” DJ Evasion says. 

“I'm not removing that sock from his mouth,” Jones Brooklyn protests. “He'll immediately start whining in Hebrew again. Who knows if he is not reciting some kabbalistic formula to put a jinx on me? His story doesn't add up. I don't want my ransom demand to be ignored because my hostage is insane. He pretends to be an actor, can you believe this shit? He said that he went to a first audition in Haifa, a second one in Liverpool, a third in Toronto and a last one in Montreal, all this to play the role of a project manager in a documentary on the reconstruction of Haiti. Once in our country, a group of people, he cannot identify, took his liberty away from him. The same people told him that any attempt to get out of character would be severely punished. He probably made this up, but that fool has different bank accounts to prove his salary. He also holds a list of phone numbers linking him to his employer, or at least, to a person who knows what's going on. The problem is, none of those phone lines are on that continent. I tell you, the man is nuts.” 

“It's like being in an espionage film,” Rico Mars says. “That guy must be a fan of Fleming or Ludlum, to keep rambling on like this. So, who answered when you called, Jones?” 

“Have you lost your mind, the Artist? I didn't dial any of those numbers. You think I have time to spare because I live in a tent? The rap album I'm recording is ripe for Amazon Dot Com, buddy, ready for the Billboard and the Grammy Awards. You're following me? The world of Hip Hop is drooling for my material. The entire planet wants me to fill the empty slot left by Biggie Small and Tupac Shakur. Here, listen to one of my tracks. I just finished the mastering.” 

File. Open existing file. By Artist. Track 2.

Bitches on a leash, bitches I can reach, bitches on my dick, bitches on demand !

Niggaz better shun, Niggaz from the sun, Niggaz need a gun, Niggaz better run !

Money on my wrist, money on my teeth, money up my head, yo money or yo dead !