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PostPosted: Fri Feb 24, 2006 9:37 am 

Joined: Sun Feb 19, 2006 10:07 am
Posts: 42
Samson awoke to the sounds of the ocean, peaceful and serene. Listening to the waves he could feel the ebb and flow that made up the circle of life. As he sat up in bed, Samson looked out at the beach and the crystal blue water. Just another shitty day in paradise he thought to himself with a smile. While getting into the shower he caught a glance of his reflection in the bathroom mirror and paused. Not bad, he thought to himself, not bad at all. Never what you would call a big man, the 6’ Samson had always worked hard to stay in shape. He also noticed that the bullet wound on his arm was healing up quicker then he expected. It would scar but not in a bad way.

Feeling like things were taking a turn for the better, Samson showered, shaved, and got dressed in a pair of black jeans, a white wife beater, and a black short sleeved collared shirt. Sitting down on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes, he turned on the TV. The Local News was on; a beautiful Jamaican woman with a perfect English accent was talking about the recent violence in Downtown Kingston . As he listened to the story, it sounded all to familiar – street gangs fighting over territory and pride. In a strange way, it was reassuring to him. Things are the same all over Samson thought to himself as he turned off the TV and locked up his room..

Walking down to the Lobby, he saw Marcus sitting in a wicker chair reading a newspaper. The Rasta cabdriver was dressed in a bright yellow striped shirt, dirty jeans, Birkenstocks, and a pair of tortoise shell sunglasses. Knight could smell the man as soon as he entered the room – the reek of ganja so over powering that no one could miss it. Approaching his new friend, Samson shook hands with Marcus and then led him in to the Yabba Restaurant for breakfast. Over scrambled eggs and fresh fruit, Samson began to get to know Marcus.

Samson: How long have you been driving a cab ?

Marcus: Goin' on four years now, it’s no what I want fe do but it pays de bills.

Samson: I hear ya …You say it’s not what you want to do … what is ?

Marcus: What is what ?

Samson: What is it that you want to do ? I mean if you weren’t driving a cab and you could do anything, what would you do ?

Marcus: Ah, dat is a bad question. I have always wanted fe run i own Nightclub in Kin'ston. A Real dasheen reggae club for de real lion of reggae.

Samson: Really ?

Marcus: Ya Mon … it’s been i dream since I was just a beenie boy.

Samson: You know I’m looking to start something down here. Maybe we could work together on a club. We just need to make a little money, which is why I asked you to set up our meeting today. How much can your friends get me ?

Marcus: Ha ha, it’s not like dat mon … I’m goin' fe take the i fe i Uncle’s Farm. Dey kyan set the i up with as much as you need.

Samson: Then what are we waiting for ?

Marcus: I wanted fe finish mi melon.


The hour drive up in the lush Blue Mountains went by in a blur of ganja smoke and reggae music, until the two men arrived at a farm nestled into the gently rolling hillside. Samson could see that it was a poor farm, with a three run down houses, a tool shed, a workshop, and two large barns on the property. As Marcus stopped the cab, Samson noticed a brand new Cadillac Escalade which seemed out of place parked next to the rusted pickup and outdated tracker. As soon as they stepped out they could hear the sounds of trouble coming from one of the barns.

Rushing forward Samson tried to sneak around one of the barns to see what was happening. Crouching down, looked around for Marcus, frowning when he didn’t see the cab driver. Usually a good judge of character, Knight had figured Marcus for a stand up guy – not some kind of bitch that would run and hide in the face of trouble. Guess I was wrong about him Samson thought as he peeked around the corner trying to catch a glance of what was going on. In front of the barn, he saw a older Jamaican man on his knees being pistol whipped by a young white American man. Behind him another large American man held a Glock pistol on a group of Farm workers who all looked on in horror.

It was a hostile takeover, the same kind of job that Samson had done before. Listening in to the drama, he could hear the young punk shouting at the old farmer, pistol-whipping the old man every few words to drive his point home.


The last blow lacerated the old man’s eyebrow and he fell to the ground in a heap, drawing a gasp from his workers. It was brutal but effective, they were professional thugs and they knew how to do their jobs. Samson’s mind raced as the young thug grab an elderly woman for the crowd and put his pistol to her head as she begged for her life. He needed to do something – and just and he tensed up to rush into the mix, Samson felt something cold and hard at his temple as he heard the familiar sound of a pistol hammer being cocked back. Freezing in place, only his eyes slid sideways, seeing a third Thug who had snuck up on him standing over him with a cocky grin.

Things had gone from Bad to worse for Mr. Knight; and as his last act on Earth, Samson gave the Thug a defiant sneer as if daring him to pull the trigger. With an evil grin the Thug almost laughed until he was suddenly interrupted by a rusty tire iron swung at a high velocity impacting the back of his skull. With the dull sick thud of an over ripe Melon, Marcus brought down the tire iron again and again until Samson stopped him. They could still hear the screaming and crying of the old woman and the threats of the young thug, which seemed to have drowned out their encounter with the 3rd Thug. Picking up the man’s Glock, the Black Knight took a quick glance to make sure everyone was still focused on the drama and gave Marcus a thumbs-up.

Thinking fast, Samson whispered to Marcus – ‘Go around the other side of the Barn. When you hear me talking, come up behind him.’ With a nod the cabbie took off, sneaking around the building. Looking back Knight braced the pistol against his other arm as he crouched against the side of the barn, taking aim at the Thug who was holding his gun on the Farm workers, waiting for the young Thug to turn and face his friend. It was only a few seconds later that the young punk asked his friend ‘Can you believe this shit ?’ – only to have the man’s head rock back as bullet wound blossomed out of his left eyebrow and a second one bloomed from his throat as Samson’s new Glock roared to life. Spinning around, the young Thug held his hostage close to him and blindly returned fire – blowing several holes in the barn door.

Samson: I don’t know who you are and I don’t care, but we both know that this is going to stop right now.


The Young Thug answered in a hail of gunfire, snapping off three more rounds into the wall near Samson’s head as he ducked back.

Samson: Don’t you get it man ? I already won. …

Thug: FUCK YOU ! I’ll kill this old woman, DO YOU HEAR ME ?

Peering around the corner pistol first, Samson was eye to eye with the Thug – who was doing the same from behind a crying old woman. Behind the two of them Samson could see Marcus sneaking up on them. He knew he needed to keep the Thug focused on him without getting shot, so he started to reason with the Thug in his own way.

Samson: Let me break it down for you … if I shoot you and you don’t shoot her then I’m the hero for saving her.

Thug: YOU Think I WON’T Kill this Bitch ?

Samson: Doesn’t matter to me … see if you shoot her then I shoot you and I’m the hero for bringing you to justice … Of course there is always my favorite …

Thug: Yeah … what’s that ?

Samson: I shoot her and then I shoot you and say that you shot her. AND you know what ? I still get to be the hero.

The look on the faces of both the young Thug and his old hostage were priceless. Samson wished it could last but It was just then that Marcus made his move, swinging the tire iron at the back of the young thug’s head but landing on his shoulder. It was enough to spin him a quarter turn to the right, pushing his human shield away, and exposing his back to Samson. Again his new Glock roared to life, sending hot lead into the base of the Thugs spine, leaving him crumpled and bleeding on the ground. Stepping out from behind the Barn, Samson took careful aim and dropped one more round into the young Thug’s forehead.

Marcus immediately began to comfort his Aunt and Uncle, while Samson and the Farm workers collected the bodies and lined them up in front of the Barn. Knight then searched the bodies, pocketing their wallets, keys, and firearms while several of the farm hands retrieved shovels and wheelbarrows from the tool shed.

After helping the elderly couple to their home, Marcus returned for Samson and led him to the main farmhouse. the four of them discussed what had happened. In the meantime, the farm hands buried the bodies where they would never be found. As Marcus’ Aunt, now recovered from her trauma, served coffee, the three men talked on the front porch.

Marcus: What was dat about ? Who were dose men ?

Uncle James: They were just Thugs … sent by some Fancy coffee chain in American. Dey want fe buy da farm and when I told dem it wasn’t for sale – den they told i I had no choice. You saw them tryin' fe change i mind.

Samson: They were pros, out of town help brought in to terrorize you and the other Farmers. Now that you have stood up to them, they will have to make an example out of you.

Uncle James: Your bredren seems fe know a crucial deal about dese kind of men.

Samson: That’s because I am one of them.

Marcus: Come on Uncle, Samson saved your lives.

Uncle James: You are right and i are mighty grateful fe both of the i but the i just bailin' on a sinkin' boat. Dere’s no way dat I kyan let off de loan dis ya year so they will just buy it once di bank forecloses in a few months.

Samson: What if that didn’t have to happen ?

Uncle James: What do the i mean lad ?

Samson: Suppose I become your silent partner. I’ll take care of protection and help you turn the farm around. All you have to do is trust me and do what I tell you to.

Uncle James: Well i do owe the i our lives and if i don’t do supm den we’ll lose de farm. Can’t see that it would make thin' any worse … All right the i have yourself a deal.

Samson: Alright … I better see what I’ve gotten myself in to.

As he walked outside of the rundown Farmhouse, Samson spotted four dreaded and dirty farm hands standing in a circle. With a smile he walked up just as they eldest among them finished saying a prayer and lit up a thick joint. As he approached they made room for him with a smile, but circle fell silent. All eyes were watching when it was his turn to hit it. Feeling the pressure, Samson took a deep drag on the joint and then carefully handed it to the next guy, all without coughing. When he finally exhaled the resulting cloud of bluish gray smoke drew friendly laughter from the Rastas.

At first he just smoked and listened, figuring out quickly that all four of them were James’ sons and Marcus’ cousins. While they tried to put up a brave front, the events of this morning had clearly shaken them. Peter was the oldest, was clearly their leader. It was Peter that finally worked up the nerve to ask the questions that Samson knew was on all their minds.

Peter: So … what do the i dink dey will do now that i have killed their soldiers ?

Samson: They will find a different way to attack. Come at you in the middle of the night or dressed like the police. Yeah … they’ll be coming at you sideways.

It was then that Paul, the second oldest and heaviest of the brothers had to add in his two cents. From the look of a nasty black eye he was wearing, he must have put up a fight. It was clear from his tone that he didn’t completely trust Samson yet.

Paul: You know a heap about Bad men.

Samson: Shit … You haven’t even seen Bad yet.

Paul: That is what i are afraid of.

Samson: You Should be afraid … Look, I ain’t gonna lie to you. I’m not a nice guy … but I’m the kind of guy you want to call when the shit goes down.

The Brothers looked at each other sheepishly, unsure what to say. Feeling the need to change the subject, Samson’s head was spinning. He turned on the charm and with an easy relaxed smile he looked at Peter and asked….

Samson: That was some good ganja. Did you grow that here ?

At last the question that Mark, the youngest son had been waiting for. He nearly leapt forward with a goofy grin on his face, eager to talk get involved in the conversation.

Mark: Did the i gaan fe bed dat stuff ? I was tryin' some of dese seeds I got from South Africa.

Samson: I thought it tastes like Durban Poison.

Mark: You know about it ?

Samson: Shit Negro … I was twisting up fatties when you were still learning to walk. I KNOW my herb. … But you shouldn’t be trying to grow that shit here. You get too much rain.

Mark: You should see de field mon dey sprin' tall and tallowah.

Samson: Yeah but you could grow better plants then this. I grew this shit on the roof of my apartment back in Inglewood. But here … man, with the soil and the sun and then rain. We could do it right.

Paul: We ?

Samson: Yeah, WE … Your Dad and I have agreed to be partners on the Farm.

Mark: Righteous !

Samson could see the enthusiasm in the young Rasta’s face, it was matched by the worry he saw in the faces of the other three. After seeing him kill two men and search their bodies without batting an eye, they had ever right to be nervous. Knight could sense this and expected it. Bowing his head, he stepped forward with his hands clasped together in front of him.

Samson: Now … I know what your thinking. Did things just get better or worse ? … That’s a good question. The way I look at it, your world just got a whole lot better …

The tallest brother, John who had remained silent the entire time, finally stepped forward and looked down at the Black Knight. Stroking his straggly chin hair, the tall man cocked his head to the side and asked…

John: And how do i know dat i kyan trust the i ?

Samson: You just saw me save your Mother and Father’s lives and I’ll give you my word that I’ll do the same for each of you. I can also turn this farm around and show you how to make some real money. And … I can show you how to improve the shit your smoking, make it ten times more powerful but still 100% natural. But that AIN’T TRUST !

Looking around at the four brothers, the Black Night could see that he had their attention. Looking each of them in the eye, he nodded slowly as he passed back and forth.

Samson: Trust isn’t something that you can just give to someone … Trust has to be earned. So here is my offer to you … Stick with me and help turn this place into the Farm it could be – working together as Brothers. If you have my back, then I got yours. Cool ?

Peter looked at his brothers for a moment, waiting for each to nod in turn. Mark was the first to quickly agree, with John joining him a second later. Paul chewed his upper lip for a moment and then nodded as well, leaving Peter to face Knight.

Peter: I guess we’re i-rey with dat.

Samson: Great … hey Mark, why don’t you show me around ?

The teenager talked a mile a minute for the next hour as he gave Samson a tour of the Farm. Other then the main farmhouse, there were two other houses on the property; one that was home to the Boys and the other was used by the rest of the Farmhands. Both were in need of some minor repairs but were solidly built. The old barn had been turned into a workshop housing an odd mixture of blacksmith’s forge, a welding station, a carpenter’s bench, and a museum of old farm tools. Closer to the fields, two new barns had been build in the last ten years – one housed the farm equipment used in the fields, while the other was home to what little livestock was left on the property; a dozen chickens and twenty goats, all living in better conditions then the farmhands. As the walked closer to the fields, Samson saw the huge ‘tool shed’ that the boys had built last year. The prefab steel building was more like an airplane hanger or a warehouse and Samson immediately saw the potential in it.

Mark had grown up here and knew all forty acres like the back of his hand. It was hilly land but fertile; not only did they manage to grow a sizeable crop of the world famous Jamaican Blue Mountain Coffee, but they also grew more then enough vegetables to sell in the Farmers market every few weeks. Coffee, yams, beans, and pumpkins weren’t the only thing that was growing on the Farm as Mark topped off the tour of the crops with his personal favorite; the Ganja grove.


Tucked away in the middle of the Farm, near the base of a narrow gully was a huge growing operation. Nearly two acres of classic Christmas tree shaped pot plants growing nearly wild was a sight to behold. As they walked through the grove, the two men talked about growing herb – the teen proving himself to have the understand of a true Farmer. Samson knew that he could teach Mark some of the modern growing techniques that would improve his crop quality and yield ten times over.

While walking back to the main house, Samson asked his new friend about his Brothers and the other farmhands. Mark was honest enough to tell him that while Peter and John were good hard working farmers, his brother Paul had just gotten out of the army and was a bit of a bully, still he was family. The others farmhands were a hired help from town, good Farmers and honest men. Mark wasn’t sure they would stick around after what had happened and Samson couldn’t blame them. Gunfire and dead bodies had that effect on some people.

As they approached, Samson could see the other farmhands talking with Uncle James on the porch. The old man had wrapped a bandage around his forehead and washed the blood off his face. His right eye was almost swollen shut but he seemed to be in good spirits as they passed around a bottle of rum. Seeing his new partner, Uncle James called Samson over and introduced him to the four other Farmhands. They were all older Jamaican men who looked like they had spent their life’s earning a living from the earth, poor but honest men who never left the town they had grown up in or went to school beyond the 4th grade. Knight could tell by the way they look at him that they feared him, which was a start.

Samson: We are all men here so I ain’t gonna bullshit ya. I have been a bad man in my life. I have killed men and I have robbed and I have sinned. But today … God sent me here to save you.

Seeing the spark of recognition in their eyes, Knight knew that he was on the right track. Holding back a smile, Samson gave the Farmhands a stern and serious look as he began quoting his favorite movie.

Samson: There's a passage I got memorized. Ezekiel 25:17. "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you." I been sayin' that shit for years. And if you ever heard it, it meant your ass. I never really questioned what it meant. I thought it was just a cold-blooded thing to say to a motherfucker before you popped a cap in his ass. But I saw some shit this mornin' made me think twice. Now I'm thinkin': it could mean you're the evil man. And I'm the righteous man. And Mr. .45 here, he's the shepherd protecting my righteous ass in the valley of darkness. Or it could be you're the righteous man and I'm the shepherd and it's the world that's evil and selfish. I'd like that. But that shit ain't the truth. The truth is you're the weak. And I'm the tyranny of evil men. But I'm tryin, Ringo. I'm tryin' real hard to be the shepherd..

It wasn’t an Oscar winning performance, but the old men on the porch stood wide eyed and riveted by Samson’s speech. It was only the snickering of the younger men, who had seen Pulp Fiction that started to give it away. With a puzzled look, Uncle James passed Knight the bottle of Rum and asked

Uncle James: Who’s Ringo ?

Samson: Who ? R-ringo ? It doesn’t matter … what matters is that you and I are going to turn this place around. With James to manage the farm and me to keep out the pests, all we need is the help of some hard workingmen like yourselves. Like I said, I ain’t gonna bullshit ya – it will be hard work, but if we work together we can make this farm a success. After what you’ve seen today I won’t blame you if you want to leave, but if you stay I promise to make it worth you while.

And with that Samson took a long drink from the bottle of rum, letting it burn his throat like fiery molasses. As the men stood around, drinking and talking for another hour – discussing improvements that could be made to the farm, Marcus and Paul excused themselves – heading toward the tool shed. When the older men started talking about what crops to grow, Samson listened until everyone else had finished before speaking up.

Samson: If we are going to be successful we need to make money quickly. And like it or not Ganja is a way to do that. I say we set up four more acres to grow herb and move the coffee crop up to Twenty-seven acres as Uncle James suggested.

Uncle James: What are the i goin' fe do with de seven acres dat’s left ?

Samson: Every man who works this land gets an acre of his own. Call it a “profit sharing planâ€

Last edited by Samson Knight on Fri Feb 24, 2006 10:59 am, edited 1 time in total.

 Post subject:
PostPosted: Fri Feb 24, 2006 10:19 am 

Joined: Tue Jan 24, 2006 8:36 am
Posts: 514
An hour or so, please.

Professional RPing eh? Try pretentious, boring, and snobbish.
When a staffer says your piece looks great- don't believe them. They're pulling your leg, trying to get you to stay here. The real critics are long gone and stabbed.

 Post subject:
PostPosted: Fri Feb 24, 2006 11:15 am 

Joined: Tue Jan 24, 2006 8:36 am
Posts: 514
It was fun to write?
Well, it was fun to read too! :) I honestly enjoyed it. I wanted to read this as soon as I saw the title. I like that song, and I saw why you chose its title for your piece. It's the first ever Marley song I heard. Dum du dut dut dum dum dum. Good title choice. Got me working. There were a few capitalization errors ('I' as it refers to the speaker, should be capitalized- and common nouns should never start with capital letters unless they're starting a sentence), and I suggest using full words next time instead of '3rd' or the like. But, damn. A piece as sweet as ripe melons. I was really amused with this part:

Samson: Then what are we waiting for ?

Marcus: I wanted fe finish mi melon.

He he he... made me want to see more of Jamaican-speak.
I like Samson's hero-like character. It's not the usual thuggish air that's around him. From what I read, he's got a bit of wisdom right in there (the part where he's in conversation with Peter and the rest, loved that quote followed with bad assed speech too with Mr. 45 XD *snicker*). I agree, this should lead to a series of amusing posts where Samson improves the farm. I hope to see more of Aunt Mary and his boys. You really captured a scene right there. Lovely. You deserve all of your requests in there- but the Cadillac Escalade. It's safer for you not to have it. The rest- the farm, NPCs, and the guns. Keep them and have fun. It's nice to read a bit of someone's heart in their piece.

Professional RPing eh? Try pretentious, boring, and snobbish.
When a staffer says your piece looks great- don't believe them. They're pulling your leg, trying to get you to stay here. The real critics are long gone and stabbed.

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