Frederick Ramsay_Botswana Mystery 01 (13 page)

Chapter 27

The men had hunted with Sanderson most of the week. All they found of their lion were tracks indicating that he had not gone to Zimbabwe as they had originally supposed, but had veered off south and taken a path parallel to the Kasane road toward the Makgadikgadi Pans, the vast area of salt flats and ephemeral lakes, low scrub, the breeding grounds for tens of thousands of flamingos, and home to hundreds of varieties of birds and game. Rra Kaleke opined that if he made it there, he would not come back this way.

“How many more days, Sanderson, do you wish this hunting to continue?”

She considered how best to answer. She needed the appearance of a hunt at least until Mr. Pako took himself off to Maun.

“No much longer. Do me this thing and continue for a while longer.”

Rra Kaleke nodded his agreement. He understood that stupidity often held things in place long after the time they seemed useful or sensible, but he liked this Sanderson, and he grieved for her son.

The sun began its descent in the west and the men gathered at the truck and piled into the bed. They had overcome their reluctance to ride with a woman at the wheel. She drove very well, they said, for a woman, and they admired the new coat of bright red paint she’d applied over the weekend.

Sanderson dropped the men off and parked her HiLux, Michael’s HiLux, next to the door. Her daughter, Mpitle, had started supper. David Mmusi sat at the table as if he belonged there.

“Mr. David Mmusi, you are in my house, and I do not know why. Can you explain this to me?”

The boy started at Sanderson’s tone. Mpitle stepped toward her mother.

“I asked him to stay a while. He has been telling us amusing stories and Michael has even had a laugh.”

Sanderson looked through the open door where her son lay in bed. He smiled and gave a weak nod.

“It is so, Mma. This boy is telling stories, and also, so you know for sure, I have made certain no funny business has transpired while we are waiting for you to come home. I have asked this man to eat with us this one time but, of course, that is for you to say.”

Sanderson sat wearily in the best chair that had been kept vacant for her.

“Yes, you stay, David, it will be an honor.” She turned to her daughter. “And what have you prepared for this wonderful occasion?”

Mpitle grinned and showed her the stew she’d concocted from vegetables and impala, meat that Sanderson had brought home the day before. Rra Kaleke had insisted she have a share of the “hunt.”

“When we are finished with this cookery, you and I must have an important talk together, Mr. David Mmusi.”

***

The knock on the door interrupted Travis’ study of Earth Global’s most recent annual report. There wasn’t anything in it he hadn’t read many times before. And as he’d composed most of it himself, it wasn’t that he was enchanted with his own prose. After his brief chat with Leo, he looked for something he might have missed in the minerals and mining section. He shuddered at the thought of who might be calling. He believed he knew and considered remaining seated and not answering. Instead, more out of a concern she might cause a scene than out of a desire to see her, he answered the door.

He’d guessed correctly. Politics, they say, makes strange bedfellows. Business has its own version of that axiom, and Travis now contemplated a personal application of it. He’d assumed correctly, and Brenda Griswold stood in his doorway, her fingers already at the buttons on her blouse. Travis never married and had no intention of entering that blessed state until after he’d secured the presidency of Earth Global, perhaps not even then. He found himself at the brink of accomplishing that coup, but to do so required him to accommodate the woman standing at his door. She hesitated for a second and then pushed past him into the room.

“Bobby’s out talking to Leo or something. I told him I would be on another game drive, so we have all afternoon.”

“How about we just talk for a minute?”

“What’s to talk about? You need me, Bobby’s a loser, and since I control the shares you need to get what you want, we’re a team. Simple.” She finished unbuttoning her blouse and slipped off her shorts.

Travis had no objection to conducting an affair. He’d done so in the past and guessed he would in the future. The fact that Brenda married Bobby Griswold and therefore should be off limits did not concern him in the least. He’d discovered affairs with married women to be a far safer undertaking than with singles. The former had more to lose if caught and tended to be discreet. Similarly, ending the liaison took far less effort, for the same reasons. Brenda, unfortunately, did not fit the married woman profile. No one would ever describe her as discreet, and terminating any liaison with her, should he wish to, could be very difficult. That ending would have to happen.

But, for the moment, he needed her.

“What’s your husband talking about with Leo? If he spills what we’re up to, this could all go south. I’d be out. You’d be out, and we’d have no future.”

“Bobby doesn’t know squat. I mean, he knows I have the money lined up to redeem the shares, and he knows I’m fixing it so we have a payday and you’re involved in it. That’s all. He won’t tell Leo anything to screw it up. He’s not that quick.”

“I don’t like it. If he finds out about us…”

Brenda turned her back to him so he didn’t see the look that crossed her face. Had he, he would have had no compunction to toss her out of the room, half naked or not.

“No problem, Travis. I have him under control.”

He hoped so. He strolled to the slider and pulled the draperies across it. The room, without the sun streaming in seemed smaller, and Brenda’s perfume seemed to fill it. The scent was pleasant enough but, as Brenda apparently did not stint in its application, overwhelming. He returned to the bedside.

Strange bedfellows, he thought.

Chapter 28

Leo Painter did not achieve success by being stupid. If anyone were to ask him for the keys, he would say that any jackass can run a company; just look at the idiots running the banks and Wall Street. To make money, however, required a person both to have a feel for the doable and a willingness to do it. He might have added that it didn’t hurt to have a streak of ruthlessness as well. Sometimes that characteristic played out in the boardroom, in the hurly-burly of power brokerage. But more often it allowed one to recognize it in an opponent and take anticipatory measures. Thus, Travis did not realize it, but he would soon have his ears pinned back.

Leo picked up the sheaves of papers he’d placed face down and read them carefully. Early that morning, before he’d met with Greshenko and had the disastrous meeting with Botlhokwa’s people, he’d called his office and had his administrative assistant pull all the statements from the phone company for the past three months for both the office sets and the Blackberries used by Travis and Farrah. He asked her to copy them and fax them to the lodge. Since the company paid those bills, he assumed he had the right to access the records. He’d supplied all his chief executives with the devices precisely for that reason.
Lex facit regem.
Actually, at Earth Global, it’s the other way round: the king makes the law, and until he said otherwise, he would remain king.

Farrah thought Leo bugged his Blackberry, and Leo did not disabuse him of the notion. He hoped it would discourage disloyal behavior. It seemed it had not. As it happened he did not have direct access to their devices, but he could review all the calls in and out, and that is what he occupied himself with for the next hour. He mixed another martini. He recognized most of the numbers. Farrah, since his divorce, had few friends and not much of a social life. It did take some study to figure out some of Travis’ calls. He had to check his own pocket diary to identify a half-dozen.

“Travis, Travis, you are breaking this old man’s heart. Is there any hope for you, or must I toss you to the dogs?” He glanced out the window at the river. “Make that the crocodiles.” Leo shook his head and sipped his martini.

“Why are you young people in such a hurry to go to hell? Patience is not only a proverbial virtue, but in business, it is an absolute necessity. Take a lesson from the great poker players. Fold more hands than you play, and know that all the big pots are won after midnight.”

There was no one in the room to hear Leo’s musings, and even if there had been, it’s unlikely it would have mattered. Leo sighed and drained his glass: time to go to the main lodge for dinner.

“Mark Twain said, ‘There are some things a man can only learn by swinging a cat by its tail.’ Travis, my boy, with my help, you are about to swing a cat. And when I’m finished with you, I will have a long chat with Henry Farrah.”

***

The gray monkey, after his near miss with the lion, made a point of staying close to the lodge and would do so until the memory of his close encounter with death faded or his innate curiosity overcame caution and he ventured out once more. But now, his interest centered on the lodge’s many rooms and chalets. He’d come to Leo’s sliding glass door the on balcony side of the room in the hopes of prying it open and executing a grab-and-run on the contents of what he took to be a bowl of fruit. He’d done it many times before. If he’d thought about it, he would have been thankful that the tourism board encouraged so many absentminded visitors to explore his territory to be charmed and cajoled out of food. He sat staring through the door, watching the man rifle through his papers and mutter to himself. And then, watched as he straightened his shirt, donned a jacket, and left. As soon as the door closed behind him, the monkey went to work on the slider. Fortunately for Leo, he’d secured the papers in his briefcase and well away from the bowl of fruit.

***

Bobby did not, for one second, believe Brenda had joined another game drive. He’d seen the truck pull out, and she wasn’t in it. She would be back with Travis. Okay, let her. He had a plan, and then she, no all of them, would get what they had coming. He rummaged through the pile of clothing and parcels Brenda had piled up on the bench at the foot of the bed and found what he sought. He hesitated. It wouldn’t do to touch it with his bare hands. The gloves from her ridiculous safari outfit lay on the floor. He retrieved one of them and forced it on. Too small to fit over his hand but he did manage to insert his fingers.

He picked up her
assegai
and laid it on the leopard-patterned scarf. He folded the edges of the scarf over the spear tip and walked to the slider, opened it and stepped out onto the balcony. He hid the scarf and its contents along with the glove under the bottom step and returned to the room. He’d show them all who was a “boy,” who didn’t have the smarts, who didn’t have the guts. They never thought he’d make it. He would show them. All of them would pay: Leo, Parizzi, and Brenda, especially her. And then they’d see who the top dog at Earth Global was.

They’d all be at dinner now. He didn’t want to see them. He flopped down and cracked the last beer. He’d need to call for more.

He’d fix them.

Chapter 29

Leo took in the company seated about the dining area. He didn’t see the Griswolds or Travis. Perhaps they’d eaten earlier or would be coming in later. He’d heard about a rustic restaurant east of the lodge, The Old House. Perhaps they’d gone there for a change. He sipped his soup and considered how he should approach Travis. On the one hand, it would not do to seem weak, but, on the other, if he acted too aggressively, he might precipitate something that would be at cross purposes to what he had in mind as his closer. He hoped the man’s common sense would at least temper his ambition—“vaulting ambition”— as Shakespeare might say. Travis had a great deal in common with Lady Macbeth. The future of Earth Global hung on the tenuous thread of his next move and Travis’ response to it.

Henry Farrah entered the dining area somewhat unsteadily. Leo waved the lawyer over.

“May I join you?” Farrah said.

Leo could smell the booze from five feet away.

“Actually, I intended to dine alone, Henry. I have some planning to do, you might say.” Farrah seemed disappointed. “However, I would like you to join me in my room for a drink later, if you will.”

“What time?’

“I’ll give you a call. And Henry? Try to be sober when you arrive.”

Farrah wandered off to another table and, in a display intended for Leo, ordered another drink. Leo pretended not to notice. He was halfway into his steak when Travis and Brenda Griswold entered. Interesting. She must really have sunk her hooks in him. Well, that would change in the next hour or so. As he had done with Farrah, he motioned for Travis to join him.

“Yes, Leo? It appears you are nearly finished. Mrs. Griswold and I met on the path coming over. She thinks her husband may join us later. Did you want to speak to me?”

Very cool. He thinks he has me. Perhaps, and then again, perhaps not.

“I thought you might drop by after dinner. There are some things we need to discuss.”

“I’d like to, but I’m afraid I may be otherwise engaged.”

“Then I suggest you become disengaged.” Leo cut a look at Brenda who, in turn, appeared as smug as the cat who licked the cream. Travis started to speak, but Leo waved him off. “It’s not a request, Travis, it’s an order. Eight o’clock, my room.”

Travis studied him for what seemed a full minute, eyes narrowed and a small crease bisecting in his forehead.

“Eight o’clock it is, then.”

So far, so good. Now if he just knew where the boy had gotten to and whether Greshenko had made any progress with the land deal. He finished his steak, ordered a cup of decaffeinated coffee and turned his attention to the “odd couple.” Brenda was bending Travis’ ear. He on the other hand, seemed lost in thought.

***

When Leo returned to his room and opened his door, he looked at what appeared a war zone. He hadn’t seen anything like the state of his room since his twenty-first birthday and he had had to repair his grandparent’s house after a semi missed a curve on a snowy night and plowed into their living room. The place was a shambles. He glanced at the slider, which stood open about a foot. He’d forgotten to lock it. He first thought Henry Farrah must have come in a drunken stupor, looking for something, but he’d left him in the dining area. He strode to the closet and checked the status of his briefcase. It lay undisturbed and intact on its side. He called the front desk and asked for someone to come and straighten up the mess.

A crew from housekeeping arrived five minutes later.

“Ah, you have met our monkeys it seems, sir,” a tall woman in a uniform said with a grin.

“Monkeys? What monkeys? Monkey business if you ask me.”

“No sir, you must remember the warning the man gave at the time you registered? And look there.” The woman pointed to the small sign over the slider. In bold, red letters on a white background it stated that guests should keep the sliding doors closed and locked. The standard warning about the area’s monkeys that would surely come in and could cause damage and perhaps even physical harm if the residents were careless about keeping the sliders closed and fastened.

Leo had heard the caution and had been amused at the sign but, in his innocence, or rather his cynical mindset, he assumed they, like the man-eating lion story, it represented another marketing ploy to scam the tourists. He allowed the crew to remake the bed and straighten the room as best they could and then sent them on their way. He wanted to prepare for his visitors.

***

“What did the old coot want?” Brenda attacked her salad. Sex, she’d told him earlier, always made her hungry. Good or bad, and his performance rated somewhere in the middle on that one, but either way, good or bad, it produced an appetite. That being the case, he supposed, it constituted nothing short of a physiological or metabolic miracle she hadn’t ballooned up to two hundred pounds by now.

“He wants to meet me in his room and talk over some business.” He sat back and watched her, marveling how she could shove greens into her mouth in one continuous motion. “Are you sure your husband hasn’t tipped this deal?”

She paused, fork piled high, and looked up at him. “He’s been mostly buzzed or blotto for the last coupla days. He ain’t said diddley squat to anybody.”

“You’re sure?”

Brenda nodded and dug into her roast. “This tastes like deer or something. One time my stepfather, the son of a bitch, came home with what do you call it, deer meat.”

“Venison.”

“Venison, right, and my mom got herself sober enough to cook it. When she wasn’t drunk out of her gourd, she could cook, I’ll tell you. Anyway that venison tasted like this here.”

“It should. It’s impala, I think. The old man is up to something. I wish I knew what.”

“Who cares? You have the votes. You have your meeting thing, and bip, bop, he’s on the street and you’re the boss. Then, you and me—”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. There’s a way to go before that happens, and when it does, then we’ll see.”

“Then we’ll see, nothing. Like it or lump it, we’re a team, pal.”

Travis let the last remark slide. He’d need her to secure his position for now. But after that happened, well, the lady had marketable skills. She’d survive somehow.

“Maybe I should go to see him with you. Just so he knows he’s over a barrel. I can say some things that will really get him, you know?”

“That is a very bad idea, Brenda. You go back to your room and amuse your husband.”

“Amuse? What do you mean?”

“Keep him happy for a few more days. You know what I mean.”

Brenda made a face and tackled a second portion of impala.

“And I’ll handle Leo Painter. I’ve been doing it for years. This will be just one last time before it all comes to an end.”

“Well, good luck with that. I still think I should go with you.”

He smiled at her and concentrated on his dinner. It promised to be a long night for both of them, one way or another.