‘This isn’t drug stuff.’
‘You know that.’
The shed creaked in the heat. The market noises seemed distant, muffled by the booze crates. I stared into the earless side of Marnier’s head, willing him on.
‘Who’s your buyer?’ he asked, opening up a little, his head hung over his knees, the sweat dripping and soaking into the wooden floorboards of the shed.
‘Prominent Nigerian business persons.’
‘With names?’
‘You don’t need to know that yet.’
Marnier winced and scratched his neck savagely.
‘If these prominent business persons come to Benin,’ he said, ‘they can have it for three-sixty an ounce. If I have to go over there ... they’ll have to come up with four hundred.’
‘You want nearly ninety grand to go over there?’
‘It’s a big risk,’ he said. ‘How much do you want?’
‘I’d be happy with two-and-a-half per cent.’
‘Take two.’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll show them my lump as a sample. You did bring that with you?’
He took it off the top of a box above his head and handed it to me.
‘I assume this is representative of the quality?’
He nodded.
‘I’ll be back,’ I said. ‘Start thinking about how we’re going to do this.’
‘Can’t you see?’ he said, slowly. ‘I’m thinking.’
Chapter 26
Helen made me a salad, cooked me a piece of fish. She served it and her church leaflet, which she put where the wine glass should have been. I pored over it without taking in a word. I nodded. She watched me from the kitchen door. The phone rang. It was Dic.
‘She’ll do it,’ he said.
‘She speaks English?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where’s she from?’
‘Ukraine.’
‘Does she have a pronounceable name?’
‘She calls herself Sophia.’
‘When can she get away?’
‘Between five and six this afternoon.’
‘Where?’
‘I’m not taking her to my home.’
‘You mean I’ve got to get to Lagos Island in four hours?’
‘It’s Saturday,’ he said, as if that made any difference. ‘Take the ferry.’
I took the ferry, caught it at Mile Two just south of the Expressway from Badagri to Lagos. It took me on a stinking trip via the Apapa docks and dropped me on Marina, about a ten-minute walk from Die’s office, a little after five o’clock.
Dic was the only man in his office at this hour. His door was open and he was sitting amongst his palm trees talking to someone out of sight but who was wearing a brown, strappy, low- heeled sandal on their left foot. He beckoned me in and introduced Sophia, who was a blonde who’d made herself blonder from a bottle. She hid behind a large pair of sunglasses which covered most of her cheeks. Her skin was very white which made her red, full-lipped but sharp-edged mouth stand off her face as if it wasn’t hers, she was just working it. She wore a simple blue cotton dress with a hemline down to her shins. Put her next to Carole and you’d pick the whore with no hesitation. She smoked Marlboros one after another, keeping pace with Die.
I sat down. Die poured me a cup of tea, offered me a smoke, forgot himself for a moment. He was nervous, didn’t know what he was getting into, and there was no doubt in my mind that he’d slept with this girl and that she did something for him ... a hell of a lot more than his wife could do for him from her hospital bed in Beirut.
Sophia? I didn’t know what was going on behind those sunglasses. She seemed to like Die. Die was easy to like. But he was a punter too and I wouldn’t know how that would sit with a woman.
I asked her about where she worked. The brothel was in a private house on Victoria Island. It catered for businessmen, ones with heavy money, but some nights were given over to civil servants, customs men, military people. These were not the paying kind and she didn’t like them. They treated the girls badly, made them do things that they didn’t want to do, especially the white girls, who they liked to humiliate. She shuddered, sucked hard on her Marlboro heavies and sat back with her tea.
I asked her about the Benin operation but she knew nothing. It was a separate business. She also said that although she knew Madame Sokode was the ultimate owner of the brothel nobody ever saw her. She never came to the house and had nothing to do with any day-to-day running of the house.
‘Did Dic tell you what I want to talk to you about?’ I asked.
She nodded.
‘Have you or any of the other women heard anything about this business?’
‘We hear everything,’ she said. ‘Nobody keep a secret from a whore.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought men would talk so much in bed.’
‘They not with their wifes,’ she said, and neither of us looked at Die.
‘Is there anything stronger than tea in your desk, Die?’ I asked. ‘I think we’re all going to need a drink for this.’
He produced the office Black Label and three glasses. He even had ice in the fridge. We drank. Die and Sophia lit up again.
‘These people, they sick,’ she said, and I thought she meant in the head, but she continued, ‘seven of the men. Two military, four from the Ministry of Public Works and the father of Madame Sokode. They all HIV positive. They don’ wear condoms. Now they scared. One go to his village and see a big medicine man. The medicine man tell him if he haff sex with a virgin it cure the sickness. He don’ get the AIDS.’
Dic looked frozen solid, not believing what his ears were telling him. Sophia took off her sunglasses and rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers. She looked across at me with big, clear blue eyes that were both vulnerable and promising.
‘The virgins they come soon. A military man tell the Rumanian girl last night. The medicine man comin’ down for the thing.’
‘Are they paying money for this?’
She shook her head. I knew what was coming.
‘Madame Sokode get the big contract from Public Work. They buildin’ a barrack for the military, a hospital and ... other things. I don’ remember but millions of dollar.’
She looked at her watch, ran her hand through her hair, put the sunglasses back on.
‘Dic say these very young girl.’
‘Nine down to six.’
‘You know, if they come to the house it’s finish. They don’ come out the house.’
‘How did you get out?’
‘No problem for me,’ she said, ‘but the young girl ... You haff to find the girl before they come to the house. If they come to the house I can do nothing.’
She took a final drag on her cigarette and stubbed it out, looked at her watch again. She stood up.
‘Is time now.’
Dic followed her out of the room. I leaned forward to check their goodbye routine. They kissed each other on the lips. She squeezed his shoulder. It was touching to watch. I leaned back. Die got himself back behind his desk.
‘So ... now you know,’ he said, taking a sip of whisky, lighting up, scratching himself behind the ear with his thumbnail. ‘It’s hopeless, of course.’
‘Are you in love with her?’
‘No, no, no, no, no,’ he said, and jerked his head up. ‘Forget about it.’
‘She’s not in any danger ... coming to talk to us, I mean?’
‘I don’t know. She didn’t say. I saw her last night, explained your problem, she didn’t hesitate.’
I nodded to him and asked to make a call. There was no reply from Madame Sokode’s office. I tried her home number and she insisted I came to the house. More social horror.
I left Die in a pensive state about his situation. An Armenian with a sick wife and eight children in love with a Ukrainian prostitute in Lagos. A lot of knots in that situation and most of them pulled very tight.
I picked up the ferry along with a lot of other people
anxious to get off the island after work My car wasn’t up on blocks at Mile Two and I joined the crawl on the Apapa—Orowonsoki Expressway up to Ikeja. The gateman let me into the grounds of Madame Sokode’s house just after nine o’clock. I joined her Mercedes parked on the slant in front of the steps up to the verandah and spent a few moments gathering myself, hoping I wasn’t taking a short walk into the snake pit.
Madame Sokode ... Elizabeth, please, let me in. She was wearing a purple shift which dropped from two thin straps at her shoulders and ended an inch above the floor. She was barefoot and had some elaborate hair extensions on which modernized her look but not for the better. Like last time it was hot and humid in the house. Her feet squeaked on the parquet as she led me to the three-piece island where there was a tray of Black Label and glasses. She sat down and extended an arm to the sofa and drinks. I poured, gave her a glass, laid my bonus lump on the table in front of her and backed off. Excitement flared in her face, her blinking rate went up to humming-bird level and her hand shot out towards the lump before the deportment queen remembered it was rude to snatch. The lump had been rubbed a bit cleaner by now and was looking more seductively yellow.
‘Such a weight,’ she said.
‘If we can agree some basic terms you can keep that ... get your quality control people to look it over. It’s representative of the lot.’
‘What are these basic terms?’ She snapped into the business brain.
‘Price and delivery.’
‘What does your principal want?’
‘He’d prefer delivery in Benin. If you can accept that you’ll get a better price. If you can’t he’ll come to Nigeria ... but it’ll cost you.’
‘I’m not going to pay more than three-fifty an ounce delivered here in Lagos.’
‘Then you can give me my lump back and I’ll be on my way.’
‘What’s the rush? I’ve cooked you some food.’
‘Not snails.’
‘Not fish-head soup either,’ she said, turning my lump over in her fingers, getting attached. How that stuff worked.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Now that we’re not in business I can relax. Do you mind if I pour myself another?’
I sat back and let the lump do all the work.
‘You don’t have any olives?’ I asked.
She left the room, taking her new friend with her. She came back with a bowl of fat green olives.
‘From Seville,’ she said, and sat down.
We started talking at the same time. I let her through.
‘No, no, please,’ she said.
‘I was just going to ask if you were getting into all this football fever with your boys in the Olympic final and all.’
‘I don’t like football.’
‘You don’t have to like it to get caught up in the spirit. It’s all out there on the streets ... those miserable, filthy, crime-laden Lagos streets.’
‘Mmmm,’ she murmured, not listening.
‘Spirit’s very important,’ I said, looking around the empty room. ‘Maybe you should have a house-warming.’
She looked up slowly. The sweat was creeping through my hair.
‘Who would I invite?’
‘Forget it. A stupid idea. It was just talk. I’ve had a long day talking, talking, talking. Can’t stop the mouth when I’ve had a day like today.’
‘What’s all the talk been about?’
‘Making a living.’
‘Loading ships?’ she asked. ‘Running around the port ... chasing after work gangs?’
That chilled me. She’d done some sniffing around in Cotonou.
‘Who’ve you been talking to?’
She named a shipping agent.
‘So now you know I’m not a multimillionaire.’
‘I knew that anyway.’
I felt the pressure of her shrewdness. Her eyes drilled, letting me know that she knew I needed this deal as much as she wanted to make it work. It encouraged me that she thought my motives were purely financial, that her Benin people hadn’t reported back. Unless she was playing the long game.
‘My principal’s got two thousand, two hundred and thirty-six ounces. If you’re prepared to come to Benin he can let you have it at three-seventy an ounce. If you insist on delivery here then you’re going to have to pay four-ten.’
‘Do you know what the market was today?’
‘I didn’t hear.’
‘Three-sixty-eight. Why should I pay anything over the market rate? What’s my advantage?’
‘I don’t know. You might have to ask yourself that question.’
‘I’m asking it.’
‘And it doesn’t sound like a positive response.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to pay the market rate and it’s going to be delivered in Lagos and that is it. Three-fifty-five on my doorstep.’
Nobody said it was going to be easy, but the toughness of her negotiating made it sound like genuine business, made it sound as if this wasn’t any sort of a game, long or short.
‘How do you like your steak?’ she asked.
‘Saignant, if it’s good.’
‘It’s good.’
Chapter 27
Sunday 28th July, Cotonou.
I woke up still bored from the dinner conversation with Madame Sokode. Yards and yards of stuff about people I didn’t know, places I’d never been to, films I’d never see, books I’d never read. Books with tides like The Hearthunters, eight hundred and fifty pages about love and flower-arranging.
I called Bondougou’s home number and arranged to meet him in his office before lunch. I sat around and let my paranoia off the leash, let it run down dark holes and worry over who knew what about me. I decided Madame Sokode only knew what her shipping agent had told her. If she did know more it was too dangerous for her to mention the uninteresting information she had gleaned and risk frightening me off. But the nature of paranoia is that you never quite believe anything.
Then there was Bondougou. He knew I was circling. Daniel would have talked that much. My Franconelli card was keeping me out on the street but I had to pull Bondougou in tighter to me and take his eye off the ball. The easiest thing in the world if you knew Bondougou.
I arrived at the empty Sûreté just before midday. Bondougou’s office was a corner room on the first floor. He was sitting behind his desk with his tunic open, a white vest stretched taut across his belly. He had a very serious look on his face that said he couldn’t think of any reason why I should be coming to see him in his office ... except one.
‘Have you found him?’ he asked.
‘Not yet,’ I said, which ironed out a few creases in his forehead.
‘What can I do for you?’
‘I was hoping I could do something for you,’ I said. ‘Solve the problem you have with Marnier before I do Franconelli’s work.’
He was suddenly concerned and fascinated. His slit eyes bulged at what might be coming.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘Franconelli’s work?’ I said, teasing him along. ‘I think you know.’
‘Yes,’ he said, resting his fingers on the edge of his desk, trying to find the right chord.
‘Marnier has close to a million dollars’ worth of gold he wants to sell.’
Bondougou’s eyebrows hopped over the stile. He didn’t know about that and it was very interesting to him.
‘What are you proposing?’ he asked.
‘I have a buyer for the gold.’
‘Here?’
‘In Nigeria,’ I said. ‘What I’m proposing is to bring my buyer and Marnier together to do the deal. The buyer pays and leaves with the gold. I satisfy Mr Franconelli’s requirements and we, you and I, split the money.’
Bondougou began playing with his nose, trying to remodel it into something more nose-like. He plugged his nostrils, should any of the large thoughts he was thinking want to escape down that route. He had one big knotty problem now. He’d said Marnier owed him money and I was ap
pearing to solve that problem, but he still had to do that schoolgirl deal. If his greed won out, which I knew it would, he’d have to do the schoolgirl deal before the gold deal. He was already having trouble moving Marnier along but now there was this other huge incentive. It was good to see the extra pressure on the man, the weight of his greed pressing down on his chest.
‘How are you going to make contact with him?’
‘I’ll call him on his mobile,’ I said. ‘I talk to him every day. I just don’t know where he is.’
‘Don’t talk to him about this yet. I have to think about this. I’ll call you.’
I knew we were on our way because Bondougou stood and offered me his hand to shake. I took it and he grinned at me, pleased to have found the rich seam of my corruption.
I bought more Red Label on the way back home. The heat was dreadful, the town dead on its feet. Distant clouds boiled and towered, preparing for rain. I shot back a couple of drinks as soon as I got in to take the edge off my brain. I slept until the rain crashing on the roof woke me. I lay in bed and watched the rain pouring down the windows, watched the late afternoon turn to night. The rain moved off. The streetlights snapped on. I got up and sat amongst the floor cushions in the dark with the Red Label in my lap. A car stopped outside. A door slammed. The gate creaked open. Footsteps on the stairs. I knew them. Only high heels could make that noise. She knocked. I didn’t say anything. She tried the door. It was open. She came in, shut the door behind her and got used to the streetlit darkness.
‘What are you doing sitting in the dark?’
‘What are you doing breaking into my house?’
‘The door was open. I thought you might be in. You look as if you need company.’
‘If you want soda with your whisky, there isn’t any ... just Possotomé.’
She wiggled into the kitchen. The black sheath getting another outing.
‘What was it like in that African jail? You didn’t say.’
I didn’t answer. She came back in with a glass and the water. She poured her drink and sat on the corner of the sofa nearest to me with her knees pressed together. She leaned over and clinked glasses with me, made eye contact.