PART THREE CONCLUSION
We entered the building and looked around. The few people inside stared at us with blatant curiosity.
It was remodeled well with a small bar back in the corner, small round tables with chairs, Memorabilia on the chicken-wire stucco inside walls.
The dim lighting was from overhead naked light bulbs and the bandstand was in the back, it appeared to be a huge rectangle of plywood supported by cinder blocks.
We found a table near the Exit which Fenton took a look-see to determine where exactly the door led. Satisfied he sat down.
"I don't sit with my back to nobody's door."
A young attractive waitress took our drink orders flirting unabashed with Mitchell and Fenton.
While we waited for our drinks an older man with long sprinkled with gray dreds, long braided beard, and dressed in Jamaican garb came through the door and surveyed the crowd.
He spotted us and sauntered over to our table with him came the undeniable odor of ganja weed.
"Hello they call me Bad." He said. "And pray tell who is this beautiful one?"
"My name is PeeCee and these are my friends Mitchell and Fenton." I said.
Bad nodded at the guys but took my hand.
"PeeCee I'm glad you and your friends have come you're in for a musical treat tonight."
"I hear you and Biscuit are serious rivals?" I questioned.
"Cain't believe errrthing you hear Pretty One the Truth is I protect this club from the Evil Jamaicans who attempt to extort money for protection."
"They must Respect you." I was impressed.
"Dat they do 'fo sure." Enjoy yourselves eh?" He ambled towards the back with two Huge Burly men in pursuit, one carried a guitar case.
The waitress brought our drinks mine was in a cute mason-jar goblet with the club's name in bright yellow writing. I took a sip of my gin & juice.
"I'm keeping this for a souvenir." I said between sips.
Mitchell and Fenton had both ordered Beers.
"I'm not drinking a lot cause I don't dare use the restroom in this place." Fenton advised.
"You're such a Snob." I told him.
Patrons were drifting in and the place had become a little stuffy along with the body heat and cigarette smoke. I watched the crowd and saw a mixture of every day folks and saditty folks...all under the same roof.
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Soon we saw Biscuit-Head Brown and his entourage enter and go straight to the bandstand. I knew Biscuit immediately; he was dressed in all black with a black pork pie hat.
There were two bare wooden chairs sitting on the bandstand platform. Biscuit went to the one on the right took out his guitar and began to tune it. Soon Bad came from the back with his guitar and sat in the other chair.
"Good evening good folks we are happy to entertain you tonight with some good ol' Talle Blues." Biscuit adjusted his mike while addressing the crowd in his raspy voice.
The crowd clapped and cheered. I was digging it.
"I challenge Bad Bembe to a face-off back in the day the Bluesmen called this cuttin' heads." He strummed his guitar.
"And I accept the challenge." Bad Bembe replied doing a quick riff on his guitar.
I noted they both had Steele Guitars famous for their mellow-soul tone.
The two Bluesmen got ready....Biscuit-Head began the challenge.
He stood and began a quirky melody that was at a rapid pace and sounded to me like a chicken clucking.
I laughed it was hilarious.
"I didn't come here to hear no fuckin' cluckin." Fenton grumbled.
"Oh Fent this is Authentic Blues Enjoy! I told him.
Biscuit-Head bowed which was the sign for Bad Bembe to answer his challenge.
Bad Bembe stood up played some out-of-this world Blues-tainted riffs and sang out in his rasta sounding voice to the crowd.
"Puck! Puck! Puck-aww!" Then Bad did a Rooster call for good measure. "Cock-a-Doodle-Dooooo!"
The crowd went crazy...even Fenton and Mitchell laughed at Bad's antics. The crowd started doing their imitations of Chickens. The place was rockin' the Blues.
Immersed in the music we didn't notice four Jamaican Thugs had entered the club and were standing against the back wall...as soon as Biscuit got ready to go again loud shouting and cussing could be heard and a fight between the Thugs and the two burly body guards jumped off.
Other Men joined in to help the body guards.
Above the screams and ruckus I hear Fenton yell, "Go for the exit before these Fools start shootin'!"
Mitchell grabbed me almost lifting me off the floor and dashed to the Exit...Fenton was right on our heels. We all ran to where the car was parked.
Soon as we got into the car we heard gunshots. I got out my phone and called 911 and gave them the info.
Fenton turned that car around and burned rubber thee Hell outta there.
It was quiet except for our heavy breathing. After a few miles our hearts had stopped racing our breathing back to normal.
"You know what?" I asked.
"What Sweetie?" Mitchell replied.
"I feel like some Popeye's Chicken."
