Bermuda Green - Billy and Jake

Bermuda Green By G. L. Morris

Chapter 1 - Billy and Jake

Who can know what the future holds, when they’re young, robust, free of fear, and full of dreams. In fact, who wants to know? Billy Williams didn’t, but he would soon find out. On those fleeting occasions when he did ponder life’s elusive meaning and the fallacy of the future, it was usually under the influence of some combination of both legal and illegal substances. Mostly illegal and locally grown. But that’s what he did. And everybody knew it. Even the Law. But Billy didn’t care much for discretion, and he didn’t give a shit about the law. Some of them were his biggest customers.

Standing at 5’ 9” and weighing about 180 pounds, Williams was ripped, and the muscle shirt he wore on this glorious day emphasized his wiriness. His Neanderthal-like features bequeathed him with an elemental appearance, but primitive he was not. He was in his own fretful way, quite cultured. A connoisseur of fine women and wine, or woman and boutique beers in Billy’s case, he was also an avid student of pugilism and the martial arts and their history. He kept himself in shape by practicing Shaolin Kung Fu and incorporated many boxing techniques in his daily workouts. Punching bags, medicine balls, weights, skipping ropes and various martial arts weaponry filled his garage enough so that if he wanted to, he could easily open a sporting goods store with his collection, or a school, which was his dream. He had become enamoured with the martial arts after seeing Bruce Lee’s “Enter the Dragon” and joined a dojo the day after.

He hadn’t looked back. He rose rapidly through the ranks and attained Black Belt level in a little under 2 years. Since then he trained on his own, studying books, films and whatever other literature he could lay hold of. And his training had come in very handy.

Toughened by growing up in the Back-of-Town area in the outskirts of Bermuda’s capitol, and only city Hamilton, Billy had learned about life hard and fast, and was cut from cloth that had been weathered for generations. He had been raised since the age of 13 by his devoted and loving grandmother who took him in when he couldn’t take the constant fighting and crapulence that infested his home. She loved him and he loved her back. Nan, as he called her, had not just nurtured him and tried to steer him in the right direction, she had become his friend at a time when that was just what Billy had needed. Many a night had been spent around Nan’s kitchen table with uncles, friends and cousins playing Yahtzee or Gin Rummy and drinking Ovaltine, giving Billy a chance to forget about life with his alcoholic, bipolar parents. Nowadays Nan drank Sherry and he drank beer. They still played Yahtzee around the same kitchen table.

Abandoning school as soon as he had turned 16, the legal leaving age in his country, he had gone to work in construction, and the rugged physical labour had only served to enhance both his mental and physical strength. His chestnut coloured hair and baby blue eyes added a touch of spurious innocence to his appearance. He looked at life through thorny glasses and was perpetually suspicious of the world and everyone in it.

Such was Billy’s demeanour on that gorgeous sunny day which June in Bermuda brings, when his good friend and partner in crime Jake Stevens rode up on his high-horse of a simulated Harley Davidson. The sun was radiant and warm; its brightness enhancing the bevy of green colours projected by the surrounding landscape around Horseshoe Bay. The beautiful Bermuda waters were glistening and blue, like an aqua field littered with the finest shining diamonds, the sand of the beach pink as always. The old railway trail above this beautiful South Shore tourist attraction was Billy’s favourite place to meditate or just hang out, and Jake knew he could always find him here.

Jake Stevens had an attitude about him in spite of the surrounding beauty. Maybe it was because he couldn’t have a real Harley. In Bermuda, 150cc’s was the maximum legally allowed for a motorcycle, and Harley Davison look-alikes were common, especially with the over-weight, over 50’s crowd who, because of their geographical location, never had the chance to be Hell’s Angels. Now they were just hell to look at.

Jake wasn’t one of these. He was lean and mean and fancied himself a “lovin’ machine”, and so too did some of the local hotties. It probably didn’t hurt his gargantuan ego that he was captain of the soccer team at his old boarding school in merry old England, that he had James Dean good looks, or that he had bedded most of the women he’d ever come in contact with. His father was also the head of the largest financial corporation in Bermuda, Excess Insurance, and as long as he towed the line at home, he had plenty of cash to spread around. No, what bothered Jake was that Billy could see right through him, so he dropped his act around his friend.

“Hey man, what’s up?” he asked, grinning as the life slowly drained out of his “Harley”. He removed his German WWII era combat helmet to reveal a crop of curly sandstone coloured hair. A blue bandana was tied loosely about neck, and his sleeveless black Guns ‘N Roses tee shirt fit perfectly to the chiselled contours of his muscled torso. “Not so much man” Billy replied for the thousandth time since they’d known each other. Stimulating intellectual conversation was not their forte.

They both stared out to sea across the sand dunes for a moment, neither contemplating nor thinking, merely basking in the surrounding beauty. “You goin’ to Joey and Mike’s party tonight?” Jake queried enthusiastically. It took Billy a moment to answer as his mind drifted to a fleeting thought of Donna and the last time they were together. She would be at the party, and therefore, so would he “You know it man, Donna’s gonna be there, and I ain’t leavin’ no room for nobody to move in on her!”

Donna was Donna Silvaro, Billy’s sometimes girl, and most times lover and friend. Donna and Billy had grown up together, been childhood sweethearts, teenage lovers, and now they were in their twenties. Now they were whatever they chose to be on any given day. Tonight Billy hoped it would be lovers.

“Tonight’s gonna be a blast man” announced Jake in his snide way as he drew heavily on a Camel cigarette. “I hear they got The Dog Pound playin’, and those Guys draw a crowd!” “Yeah” said Williams, ever disinterested, “The wrong crowd most of the time.” “I hope those guys got some kinda security at the gate ‘cause I’m getting sick of watchin’ teenagers puke.” “Yeah like you never did!” Jake replied laughingly. “Well you know what I mean” said Billy grimly, “They just don’t know how to act”. “Well they’re some of our biggest customers” Jake retorted. “Yeah, I know” answered a sombre Billy. “But speakin’ of acting man, have you seen or heard from Turtle lately?” Billy grew silent at the question. Turtle was their friend, the loyal type, the kind that worshipped the ground Billy and Jake walked on. He was also the neighbourhood hustler, the runner for a couple of bookies and other two-bit hoods whilst being the distribution manager for Billy and Jake’s lucrative street corner business. But lately he had been working for somebody else. Somebody big. They knew because Turtle had been acting secretive as of late, rather than being his usual expressive self, and their profits had fallen. Billy and Jake were concerned. “I don’t know about Turtle man” said a melancholy Billy, “I think he’s in deep, way deep.”

How A Young Author Went From Total Frustation To Being Published Literally OVERNIGHT!