Raty beat his chest, grounded his teeth in suppressed anger and crowed " me nah be no good bwoy cuz when you a good bwoy, you dead quick".
He rocked both sides and picked what appeared to be fish bone from him teeth and faced Franco.
Raty had emotionless eyes, they did not wear a twinkle or gloss. It was like looking into a dark abyss. It provided the gateway to a chasm of thoughts. You could never read Raty's mind by looking into eyes. His eyes did not relay or betray how he felt momentarily or his experiences. It was a lethal characteristic. He played on the emotional fortitude of others because he himself is a master of his own emotions.
Raty always provided you with a grin that never reached his eyes. He build a gold teeth to replace one of his premolars and Franco laughed when he said " my gold teeth fe deh way round a back so that a boy know say when him see it, me rate him"
Franco expressed peels of laughter when Raty made that statement. He remembered laughing so hard that he almost choked on his saliva. Raty had skanked away in his eighties, supercat, gangster gait. Franco guffawed because the walking often added a greater impact to the stories Raty told.
Everything about this man he knew from childhood was geared an social gratification. He wanted everyone to know that he was a bad man.
From his diamond socks to his frog mouth clarks, mesh mariner and the curshive he tied around his head down to the half rolled upward style of one of his pant's foot evinced that he was a man predisposed to violence. One of his back pocket always had a rather long rag hanging from it and the other pocket filled with race horse paper. He was a zealous gambler and lost his money faster than he could work back for it. Franco did not understand why Raty wanted to work twice for his money. To him that's what gambling meant, working for your money twice.
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