Instruments Of Darkness (23 page)

    'You were upset last night.'

    'I was?'

    'More upset than you should be for someone you ditched as a pervert.'

    Her towelled head straightened and after a few moments she turned and looked at me out of the corner of her eye. Too much was going on in the puffy eye that she fixed on me for me to understand a fraction of what was happening in there. She turned back as if she was performing her morning stretch exercises.

    'I'm pregnant,' she said.

    'By Kershaw?'

    Her neck shook as if it was suddenly too fragile to support her piled head. She held out the coffee cup and said: 'Gimme a drink and I'll tell you about it.'

    I filled the cup in the kitchen and came back to find Nina on the sofa in the living room with a bottle of brandy in her lap and a cigarette in her mouth. She put the cigarette down on the edge of the table and took the coffee, sipped it and poured a slug of brandy in, then sipped it again and poured some more brandy in.

    'Do you want ice and soda with that?' I asked, and she answered by plugging the cigarette back into her mouth.

    'Six months ago I started a relationship with Charlie. Shit, relationship - I call it that but it was more like seeing a married man who's getting the blahs from sex with his wife. I go round to his place, we fuck, he comes round to my place, we fuck. Hell, a girl gets tired of being a semen deposit.

    'I pushed him for more; you know, something really demanding like dinner out together once in a while. He gave me the: "Yeah, sure honey", and two weeks later I'm still the exercise bike. The problem is, I like him. He's a big strong guy and… hell, there ain't nobody else, that's for sure. But I reckon I got some class so I tell him' - she sipped her coffee and dragged on the cigarette - 'I tell him I'm gonna have to look for someone else who gives me a bit more of their time. He laughed at me.

    'I meet Steve. Not really my type. He made me feel kinda big. But a hell of a lot better than the Lebanese. We date. I stop seeing Charlie. Charlie's pissed as hell. Gets all proprietorial and shit. I mean, the guy's shown me as much attention as a rubber doll and then when somebody else gets on, he flips.

    'He says he can't stand Steve. Says he's gonna kill him. All that kinda baby stuff. The guy's shit hot in business, he pulls off deals that nobody else can, he talks to anyone from the President down to the
gardien
but with women he's like a kid with a toy.

    'So, Steve starts to get weird. I make a mistake. I tell Charlie. I mean, I need to talk to somebody and Charlie's the guy I want to notice me so I tell him. Charlie sends someone round to "talk" to Steve. I mean, you gotta understand the hate going on here. The sexual jealousy was incredible.'

    'When did all this happen?'

    'A couple of weeks ago. I told you I saw him in the restaurant a couple of weekends ago. Charlie had already "spoken" to him by then.'

    'What did he say?'

    'He told me he asked Steve to leave me alone or he'd have him killed.'

    'What sort of talk was that?'

    'Unnecessary. Steve didn't give a shit about me any more.'

    'But did Charlie mean it?'

    'It was just talk, Bruce,' she said leaning forward giving me a deep dumbo voice. She lit another cigarette from the one she was about to put out and sipped the brandy. She put her feet up on the sofa, crossed at the ankles, and lay her head back in the cushioned corner and smoked at the ceiling.

    'You saw Charlie again after this?'

    'Whaddaya mean "saw". You going biblical on me?'

    'Did you sleep with Charlie again?'

    'Hell, Bruce, this is private. Jesus. What's with this cop stuff?'

    'A woman was found dead in Kershaw's apartment in Cotonou. Kershaw was found dead in his house in Lomé. It looks as if they caught it on the same day.'

    'What's that gotta do with me going to bed with Charlie?'

    'I'm trying to work out what was happening last night.'

    'I'm not following you.'

    'Between you and Charlie at the party.'

    'Oh, that. Nothing special.'

    'You were asking him for something he didn't want to give you.'

    'No, I wasn't and no, he wasn't.'

    'Do you know whose baby it is? Was that what it was?'

    I was standing in the middle of the floor looking down at her. She got up and stood in front of me, her face a few inches from my chest and tilted her head up to look at me.

    'I told you last night I liked you. Now I'm going to show you how much I like you.' She saw my eyes flicker. 'That means I'm gonna trust you, not fuck you. There's not many people round here who can say that.' She puffed aggressively on her cigarette and squinted at me through the smoke. 'How much more have you gotta do on Steve's case?'

    'Meet his wife this afternoon and identify the body tomorrow.'

    'Just do that and then drop it.'

    'Drop it?'

    That's what I said - it's American for quit.'

    'That's what somebody else said to me at four o'clock this morning.'

    'Who?'

    'I don't know, but they seemed to think I needed a close look at the bathroom floor.'

    Then take the advice,' she said, and went back to the sofa and crushed her cigarette out, stabbing at the ashtray.

    'Tell me about Yvette.'

    'She's a lady who's got her hooks into Charlie.'

    'What else?'

    'I don't know. She hasn't been around long enough.' She lit up again.

    'You've spoken to her?'

    'We've met,' she said, with nothing in her face except three strands of smoke.

    'What about the drugs?'

    'Bruce!' she said through gritted teeth. 'You're not doing what you've been told.'

    'You're snorting coke, popping downers and drinking brandy in your nightshirt.'

    'Back off!'

    'Are you scared?'

    'Not as much as you could be.'

    'Charlie supplies the drugs. What do you give him? Sex and soul?'

    'Get outa here,' she said taking a rip drag from her cigarette and pointing the two fingers that held it at me. 'I said I'd trust you and you're kicking me in the teeth.'

    'You haven't trusted me with anything.'

    'I've trusted you with the advice that's gonna keep you alive.'

    'Tell me something.'

    'This is a dangerous situation and a difficult person. If I tell you anything you'll stick your nose in and get your head taken off.'

    'I don't buy this crap about Kershaw and bondage. It's too pat. A dead girl's body is found in a bad way in Kershaw's apartment and a couple of days later you push me this line about Kershaw hurting you. Did Charlie put you up to that?'

    Nina shook from her head to her heels in one zigzag shudder and she reached for the brandy bottle. The neck didn't rattle against the coffee cup rim as she poured, but it wanted to.

    'Who's this girl you keep talking about?' she asked, looking into the cup.

    'Ask Charlie, he'll fill you in. Tell him not to spare the details. It might change your mind about going to bed with him again.'

    'I've got lunch at the golf club. You better go.'

    'Lucky I came along. You wouldn't have come out of that until Monday morning.'

    'If I need a nanny, I'll give you a call.'

    'Maybe Kershaw gave you the drugs, just like Kershaw got a kick out of hurting you. Dead men are good to have round. You can dump all the shitty stuff on them and they never squeal.'

    I went into her room and picked up my bag; she stood in the same spot, cup and cigarette attached.

    'If you
are
pregnant, I should ease up on the drugs, booze and fags or you'll give birth to a stand-up comedian.'

    'Fags?' she frowned.

    'Thanks for the shower.'

    'Any time, Mom.'

    We arrived at the front door together. She leaned against the jamb. We faced each other.

    'You're angry, which is not cool,' she said, weighing every word. 'Just calm down and take the advice.'

    'I thought advice was the stuff that businessmen give you a lot of before you succeed and after you fail.'

    'Sometimes it's the stuff that friends give each other so they can ignore it.'

    'You tell me why I should and I'll take it.'

    'But you won't and you'll get yourself killed.'

    'I still won't and I'll still get myself killed.'

    I turned and she said to the back of my head, 'Can you keep my out of hours habits to yourself. I've gotta job I need to keep.'

    I walked to the car thinking Charlie must have that on her as well. The next-door's dog kept pace with me to the gate and got his paws up on it. I threw the bag in the car and got in after it. Nina stood in the doorway with her arms folded and smoke curling off her shoulder. I started the car and the dog's ears flickered and he looked across at Nina, concerned. Maybe he came from a broken home. I drove out of the Village and headed east to the airport.

Chapter 19

    Along the road in the red dust was a different suburb of Lomé. Pock-marked mud walls supported sheets of rusted corrugated iron. Spastic wooden frames were held together by thatched palm leaf. Woodsmoke rolled its shoulders out of fires which heated large black cauldrons in which three-foot wooden spoons stirred a white gelatinous cake.

    A couple of girls with better shoulder muscle definition than a pro boxer took it in turns to pound cassava. Three girls sat in a line. The eldest plaited the middle girl's hair into perfect pentagonal shapes tying a little tail in each. The middle girl plaited the youngest one's hair into tight rat's tail braids, the unfinished side of her head looking like an exploded mattress.

    I stopped at a stall where a despondent teenager sat in front of a pile of green oranges. She opened up a couple of them for me, I paid and she rolled the money up in her wrap. A group of boys played with their homemade toys. The biggest had a truck made out of coat hanger wire, the youngest a chariot made out of a tomato puree tin and two beer bottle tops for wheels.

    A
tam-tam
started and all the bodies, sitting or standing, responded. A pink baby was getting a wash from a gigantic woman who tossed it around like a pineapple she was about to buy. The baby was showing her what a pair of small untrained lungs could do and two young boys stood on one leg apiece with sticks in their mouths and watched.

    When I got back to my car, two girls in secondhand dresses which were split down their backs to their pants were preening themselves in the wing mirror. They saw me and ran off and started playing a pat-a- cake game which involved sudden pronking and midair footwork which would have left, my feet tied in a bowline.

    The oranges injected me with something lacking in my system and I approached feeling reasonable with understandable care. Ten minutes later, I arrived at the airport which looked like an American country club with palm trees, green lawns and flowers. I parked up and a group of kids sprinted over and volunteered to guard the car. I asked them against what and a cocky- looking fellow with one eye said: 'Us, we slash your tyres you no pay us.'

    I span a coin in the air and a cartoon brawl started with a lot of dust, feet and fists until one boy shot out pursued by the pack and they ran out of the parking area.

    A woman at the information desk with half-shut eyelids managed to tell me that the KLM flight was delayed with no ETA. Moments later, her head lay on her fleshy arm on the desk.

    In Arrivals, a large, well-trussed woman in bright green and red cloth fanned herself with a postcard while her ascetic husband, a hat on the back of his head, appraised the way his fingertips met each other between his knees. I reached the glass partition between

    Arrivals and Departures and supported myself on the aluminium frame. I was about to let my brain slide into 'motor reflexes only' mode when I saw Jack and Charlie arrive in the Departures hall, followed by Bagado who, mirrored in the polished floor, strode with the purpose of a fare-paying passenger who was a little late. Jack and Charlie checked in at the Nigeria Airways desk for the 13.10 Lomé/Lagos flight that was leaving in thirty minutes. They got their boarding passes and went through passport control, leaving Bagado spinning like an ice-skater on an empty rink.

    I went round to the Departures hall and Bagado skimmed across and fell on me as if I'd just taken the china he'd wanted at the Harrods sale. I handed him a fold of notes and he pushed away from me arriving at the check-in desk with a toe-stubbing abruptness. The Nigeria Airways girl told him that the flight was fully booked but that two passengers so far hadn't showed and if one of those failed to check in he could buy that seat. Bagado turned in a monstrous performance about how people should be checked in at least an hour and a half before take-off, but this cut no ice with the girl at the desk who pointed out that he hadn't been either, and he didn't even have a ticket.

    He asked the girl how long he had to wait before she would sell him the ticket. She looked at a slim, expensive gold watch on her wrist and, enjoying every syllable of her power, told him five minutes. Bagado then stood in front of the desk with the malevolent body language of a defensive linebacker.

    An American turned up wearing a pair of trainers which looked as if they had a tank of goldfish in the soles and Bagado gave him the ocular equivalent of a straight-arm tackle. The American veered away and straightening his Red Sox baseball cap came in from another angle. Bagado stood at the desk with his back to the American. The girl looked over his shoulder and asked for his ticket which the American passed over Bagado's head. She checked the American in. Bagado whipped back on to her and told her the five minutes were up. She flicked her wrist up and said: 'Four minutes and fifteen seconds.'

    Bagado put an elbow up on the desk and turned to give me a look of nodding smugness that in an instant changed to slit-eyed intent. His poisonous look fell on a small bearded man with swivelling eyes, drinker's purple on his cheeks and nose, and a blue funk vapour trailing off him. Bagado came to my side and hissed, 'Keep him away from here.'