10

He was lying on the floor with orange adhesive tape around his ankles and wrists. His mouth was taped shut, and his eyes were moving excitedly, warning me—I realized too late—to watch out for the person behind me. I crouched beside him. A split second later I felt an excruciating pain at the back of my skull. The room rocked, and the floor rushed toward me.

Two seconds, an hour. I couldn’t tell how much time had passed.

When I came to, I was on my side. Pain was shooting through my head in rhythm with my heartbeat. For that matter, I hurt all over, and I felt as weak as a newborn. But I wasn’t tied up. I didn’t know whether that was good or bad. Across from me, Drissa was still in the same position. His coloring was ashy, and he looked terrified.

“It’ll be all right, Drissa,” I croaked. “Don’t worry.”

A pair of shiny black dress shoes entered my field of vision. Only someone with OCD could keep his shoes that clean in a country full of red dust.

“Nice shoes,” I said. “Italian, right?”

The right heel struck my head. It hurt like hell. Black flies danced before my eyes, and I thought I was going to pass out again.

“Italian leather,” I grumbled. “I’m sure of it now.”

“Mr. Camara, your attempt at humor is too childish for a situation as serious as this.”

I managed to roll on my back. The guy was wearing a linen suit. From my perspective, he seemed huge. He was white and had a square face with the features of a fifty-year-old. He looked bored. I figured he was hoping to carry out an unpleasant but necessary task as quickly as possible. Two men were standing a few feet back. Black guys with the build of boxers. Two monsters beefed up on steroids. No doubt these were the guys who had been following me in the Land Cruiser. The white guy looked at his right shoe, which I had had the temerity to defile with blood and drool. His barely contained anger burned behind his eyes. He bent down, took a tissue out of his pocket, and started cleaning off the affront. His technique was precise.

“You’re an unpleasant person, Mr. Camara. A notorious alcoholic and certified shit-stirrer. Everything about you annoys me.”

“Where do you get your info—from my fan club?”

“And you feel the need to be witty. But I imagine you’re doing that because you’re slightly anxious about the predicament you’re in.”

“In fact, I’m scared as all hell. If I didn’t have a sense of decency, I’d be shitting my pants.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

The dandy spoke with feigned refinement and a slight accent, which I couldn’t put my finger on. He walked over to Drissa and squatted. He studied him with his head tilted, showing the same interest as an entomologist about to pin a bug to a corkboard.

“I’ve heard some unpleasant things about you, Mr. Camara.”

The call from Kansaye, the contract with Farah Tebessi. It had to be that.

“There is no contract,” I said, getting up on my knees. “That’s the hysterical ramblings of a woman who’s grieving over the loss of her sister.”

The dandy turned away from Drissa to look me up and down. His eyes penetrated me like an ultrasound.

“I believe you, Mr. Camara. You see, I represent a group of powerful individuals who do not like it when people interfere with their business. You’d have to be certifiable to cross my clients.”

“That is not my case.”

“And yet I understand you have a tendency to go overboard. You do stupid things.”

“Yes, but that was before. Now I’m in therapy, and I’m doing much better.”

He almost smiled and stood up, motioning to one of his bodyguards. The guy started walking toward Drissa. He was brandishing a machete.

“What are you doing?” I asked, terrified.

The guy cut the tape binding Drissa’s hands. He pressed a knee to his shoulder and pinned the old man’s right wrist to the floor. Drissa moaned and looked at me, his eyes pleading for help.

“What the fuck are you doing? I told you, I don’t pose a threat to your clients, goddammit!”

I tried to get up, but felt sick to my stomach and way off-balance. Dandy smiled and gave my chest a light kick. I tumbled backward.

“I’m just making sure you understand the message, Mr. Camara.”

He nodded at the giant, who raised the machete.

“NO!”

I cried out like a possessed person, but the machete made its relentless swipe with enough power to slice through Drissa’s wrist like a stalk of grain. A red geyser gushed from the bloody stump. I managed to get up and rush to Drissa. I undid my belt and fashioned a tourniquet. His head bobbing, my old friend was on the cusp of unconsciousness.

“It’ll be all right. Hang in there,” I said, holding him to my chest. His forehead was glistening with sweat.

As I looked up, I realized I was crying like a child.

Dandy and his gorillas had vanished.